


A Song of Sith and Thrones (GoT/SW)

by Illuviar



Category: Star Wars, game of thrones
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illuviar/pseuds/Illuviar
Summary: One night you fall asleep in a hospital bed on Coruscant. Then you awake a dimension away. No Force or magic. Not even a bit of cybernetic enhancements to give you an edge. Just the body of a bastard prince, who lives on borrowed time. It's too bad for the locals that they got a Sith stripped from his arcane powers and thrown in the snake pit that is Westeros.
Relationships: Margaery Tyrell/OC
Kudos: 12





	1. How to sow a storm

** Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it. **

  
  


** Prologue: A new prince in the Red Keep **

  
  


** = Sith = **

  
  


** Red Keep   
King's Landing **

  
  


I stared at my "mother" and siblings, who were waiting me for breakfast, or to break our fast as they say around here. We were in Cersei’s chambers, which while tastefully decorated in vivid crimson and bright gold, left a lot to be desired. While things could be worse, I could have ended up stuck into a commoner without the Force to back me after all. Nevertheless, even royal chambers from such a primitive age were a far cry from the luxuries I had grown accustomed to. From all the stunts my "favorite patron” had pulled off, this had to take the cake. She even did this for my own good you see. I needed vacation she told me, then I awoke into a bloody stinking drafty castle. 

  
  


I had to keep repeating in my head that awakening in the Royal suites of the Red Keep was much better than the alternatives considering I found myself without the Force, any magic or cybernetic enhancements. I was just a man, a growing teenager really, which didn’t do my prospects of reaching the respected old age of twenty any favours.

  
  


On the bright side, at least mynew body was in an incredible shape when you consider the more or less medieval setting, but still...

  
  


It could be worse, much worse, I chanted in my head while carefully studying most of my closest family in this world. Cersei was a stunning blonde who wore her years well, my little sister resembled a bit thinner, younger copy of our mother, and Tommen, well… he was a short blond lad who looked at the set up table with ill disguised interest. Finally, there was Joff, my other brother, the little psychopath. He was the Crown Prince too and a significant obstacle to me staying alive in the long run if the little I remembered about this world was in fact true. At least I had a bit of time, no matter how borrowed it was, before all hell broke loose. Did I mention that all of us had one specific thing in common? Yeah, we were all blond fucking bastards, which as far as I was concerned meant that I was already on a borrowed time.

  
  


Well, needs must. I plastered my best fake smile on my face, gave a friendly  wave  to my new family and headed for the table, hoping that the bloody food wouldn’t be poisoned. While two of my siblings were obviously happy to see me, even if in Tommen’s case I was  less interesting than the food, Joff  was  glar ring daggers at me. I simply smirked at the little shit, wondering how soon I could arrange a very regretful and t ragic accident for my dear older brother. 

  
  


I wasn’t sure what it said about me that half hour after awakening in this world I was already plotting kinslaying, then again, I did have the memories of Durran Baratheon, the lad whose body I ended up possessing, and everything I could recall pointed at the fact that only a handful of people would really miss Joff the little monster. I know, that was rich coming from a bloody Sith, however I simply couldn’t help it.

  
  


I shook my head and walked to the table, while keeping my fake smile in place. I gave a respectful nod to my mother and went for the free seat on her left. Naturally, Joff was sitting to her right, the place of most respect, even though the little mad man deserved none. I just raised an eyebrow at my fuming big brother, being glad that my past self in this world hadn't spent too much time with him. As the second son, the Prince in whose body I now resided, had spent nearly half the year at Storm's end, the Baratheon's ancestral seat of power, being groomed as the next lord of the Stormlands… which was another clusterfuck I would have to deal with. Even worse, I had the vague suspicion that something like that wasn’t supposed to happen – I had a muddy recollection of Uncle Renly being chosen to inherit the Castle and father’s titles… I blinked at that thought and shook my head, hoping that sooner or later would become easier to separate the thoughts and memories of Durran from my own.

  
  


It wasn’t all bad because at least Prince Durran Baratheon had been somewhat competent and reasonably nice kid (for a Westeros si noble) and didn't piss off the locals. However that  might not matter in the end given our Lannister look s and questionable parentage. I would have to work hard to make sure there was no doubt that a ppearance aside I was a bloody Baratheon through and through, but that was for the not so distant future. I still had a breakfast to get through and all the clashing thoughts and memories running amok through my skull didn’t help at all. 

  
  


“Mother, how have you been, really? I know you said all was fine in the letters we exchanged.” I asked, while carefully studying the Queen with concerned eyes.

  
  


I decided that playing the role of the dutiful and concerned son might be for the best at least until I could get my bearings, straighten up my head and begin building a proper power base. While winging it wasn’t exactly my favourite modus operandi, it was often quite fun.

  
  


It was even better when I had the Force backing me up so I could get out of any unfortunate situation I ran into too. I shoved away this morose thought and picked up a cup of wine. Joy, being stuck in such a primitive place, drinking alcohol all day long every day might turn out to be the healthy thing to do. ‘Lucky me.’ I took a careful sip of the wine, which wasn’t actually that bad and returned my full attention to my brand new mother.

  
  


“I’m fine, Durran.” Cersei answered with a small smile forming on her face. “What about you? You’ve been stuck in the Stormlands for so long...”

  
The implication being that even being groomed for a Lord Paramount of the Stormlands in breach of certain important traditions wasn’t good enough for someone of Lannister blood.

  
  


“Storm’s End was all right, even if it isn’t the Red Keep.” I lied through my teeth. If my new memories were right, and I didn’t have other things to worry about, being stuck over there ruling one of the Seven Kingdoms and keeping as far away from King’s Landing and its stench would have been a great bargain. However, I wasn’t that lucky. “How about you, Joff?” I kept my smile on and saluted my older brother with my cup.

  
  


Mother, this little shit, Little Finger, and a bunch of other imbeciles were going to tear the realm apart and likely get me murdered or worse unless I played their bloody game and won, and that would simply not do. Besides, as a King I would be in a better position to make this shithole into something vaguely resembling bearable place to live. I hoped so anyway.

  
  


My loving psycho of a brother merely glowered at me and buried his face into a cup of ale. And this, ladies and gentlemen, was supposed to be our next King. Over my cold dead body.

  
  


I turned my attention to brother number too, who was too busy devouring a passable rendition of a cake to be interested in anyone else. Sibling number three was delicately nibbling on a piece of steaming bread generously covered with honey and watched me with sparkling eyes.

  
  


“What about you, Cella? How have you been, my little Princess?” The mere sight of my little sister, who incidentally was the only sibling Durran actually loved, turned my smile into a genuine one. He didn’t have much patience for Tommen and his antics, which were centered around chasing cats and playing with them if he caught them, and the less said about Joff and his _habits,_ the better.

  
  


“I’m well, big brother.” Cella answered after swallowing her bite, and acting like the proper little lady.

  
  


I was beginning to figure out that I got the full package from Durran, memories, emotions, everything, which if indeed true, was going to be both a blessing and a curse. Cella was innocent little girl, I loved her to bits and had the overwhelming need to keep her safe and strangle everyone and anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

  
  


That was going to be a complication…

  
  


I took a piece of warm bread and began buttering it while trying to calm down my racing thoughts. Possible threats and people who I needed to get rid off, not to mention problems that needed fixing yesterday, possible assets, the nucleus of a few plans… Well, as far as threats went, those were more than I could remember from the top of my head, however at least half the members of the Small Council qualified at this time. There were the Targaryens across the sea, the zombie army that would sooner or later march south, my parentage and the war that it might spark…

  
  


I took up a fork and stabbed an inoffensive piece of cheese and took a bite of it, still trying and failing to focus my thoughts. My eyes ran across the room, taking in the absurdly old fashioned furniture and tapestries the likes of which I hadn’t seen outside a museum in decades. All the red reminded me that if I played my cards right I could enjoy the backing of one of the most powerful and capable people on the continent, who also happened to be my grandfather so that was one serious boon. I could recall that my father and Tywin Lannister used to argue through raven post TM about my future. My grandfather wanted me as a possible heir to Casterly Rock in case his nephews didn’t prove themselves competent enough. That would have led to either Tommen replacing me as the prospective heir of the Stormlands or even better for the stability of the realm, he could inherit something else while one of my Uncles got the Lordship and Lord Paramountcy as if was their due.

  
  


That idea brought my thoughts to a halt. I couldn’t recall what exactly possessed father to make me the heir of Storm’s End with all that entailed, and that might actually be quite important for my continued well-being. For certain, figuring out that little mystery would be yet another thing to deal with in the foreseeable future.

  
  


Finally, I managed to calm down my racing thoughts to properly concentrate on the here and now.

  
  


"Mother, to what do we own the honor?" I asked.

  
  


Ever since Durran had turned fourteen, such family breakfasts were no longer an almost daily ritual. Cersei had been too busy doting on Joffrey, making him even bigger spoiled brat than he used to be, while the Durran began spending a lot of time around Renly and Ser Barristan Selmy, who was his primary tutor in sword combat.

  
  


Cersei interrupted my musings.

  
  


"The hand of the King had gotten sick all of a sudden," she informed us in a sweet tone.

  
  


Oh, shit. I thought I had more time to plot and prepare.

  
  


"That is tragic," I supplied in a neutral tone.

  
  


"Indeed, Durran." Mother said, though you couldn’t tell she was in any way disturbed by this turn of events by the way she spoke. In fact, she appeared quite pleased.

  
  


"What's the big deal?" scoffed Joff.

  
  


I rolled my eyes at him and even mother gave him a look that might have held the tiniest hint of disapproval.

  
  


"Who could become the next Hand of the King if the worst happens, the Seven forbid? That is the issue," I said, giving him something to think about and winning a nod of approval from Cersei.

  
  


While Joff was trying to make his two brain cells rub together, I speared another piece of yellow cheese with my fork and started chewing carefully. This one was edible as well.

  
  


"Grandfather of course!" exclaimed Joff.

  
  


I almost choked on the cheese and had to hastily wash it down with wine. As if. I was well aware, as everyone who paid any attention, that Robert wasn't too thrilled with the Lannisters having as much influence within King's Landing as we currently held. Making Tywin Lannister the Hand of the King, well that was going to happen when the Seven Hells froze over. Even if I didn't have some knowledge about a possible future, the logical choice at least in father's mind would be Eddard Stark.

  
  


Stark, he honorable northern man. That poor sod would have no idea in what he would be getting himself into if he accepted the position. It was more likely than not that I would be one of the people plotting against him. If he was truly as honorable as the show and the common knowledge I could now recallindicated about the man, he would be an enemy if, when the secret went out, which was too bad. Under most circumstances Stark would be one of the few people in this wretched world I could trust, however as things stood I did like my head to remain firmly attached to its rightful place, thank you very much. Preferably with a crown on it in the future too.

  
  


M y c razy  older brother notwithstanding, I had it too good to risk loosing all the power and security my position could give me even while Robert was still alive.  That reminded me, I needed to have a hear to heart conversation with mother and “uncle” Jamie, a bout regicide  among other bracing topics.  I had no illusions how the King would react if the truth ever got out while he was still drawing breath. In such a case, my best bet would be either to flee to Essos or taking the Black. If I was really lucky that is  and I had no intention of either baking in the desert of freezing my balls on the wall waiting for the zombies to come and try eat my face. 

  
  


I took a sip of wine lamenting the lack of Kaf and looked at Joff.

  
  


"Unlikely, brother. If Jon Arryn doesn't recover, father's choice for his next Hand lies north," I stated the obvious.

  
  


My mother nodded absentmindedly. It was obviously that she was plotting something, though that was nothing new. She was always doing so.

  
  


"Eddard Stark!" she almost spat the name. "He would be troublesome!"

  
  


How interesting. One would think that she wouldn't be too pissed off with such a choice. Grandfather was clearly out for now as a contender for the position and speak whatever you will about Stark, but there were much worse choices for a Hand of the King. At least speaking from the point of view of our family.

  
  


"Perhaps," I agreed. "On the other hand, there are other people who we would like even less as the Hand of the King."

  
  


"There is something else..." Cersei trailed off. "Ever since you left for Storm's End last year, your father has been making noises about finding you and Joffrey wives."

  
  


"Ah. How interesting!" I exclaimed, adding just the right amount of false cheer in my voice.

  
  


It really didn't fool anyone, but Joff, who was pouting. Cella giggled at me while struggling with a piece of lemon cake and my mother even allowed herself a small, amused smile.

  
  


"Any idea who are the lucky ladies?" I asked. Though whoever had to marry Joff would be very unlucky gal if he lived long enough for such an occasion. Needless to say, that wasn't something I was willing to allow. Giving my brother chance to spawn wasn't good idea on so many levels…

  
  


"The Tyrell girl and one of the Starks…"

  
  


"Well, well... That's actually not too bad an idea," I thought aloud.

  
  


Cersei frowned at me, even though the reasoning should be obvious. The Lannisters and the Starks weren't best of friends, especially after Tywin's stunt with the previous royal family. Which reminded me, the Mountain needed to die in order to patch up relations with Dorne or at least buy us some more time before they did something regrettable.

  
  


"I can see why father wants a marriage with the North. It's no secret the bad blood existing between the Lannisters and Starks. Then there is the Tyrell's ambitions to think about. Binding them to us would have many benefits." I thought aloud.

  
  


Mace Tyrell, no to mention his mother, the Queen of the Roses, they wanted close ties with the royal house. They would love if Margery became the next Queen, which would benefit us a lot as well. Such a union would give us a greater access to the Reach, with its food, money and equally importantly armies... Besides, that would placate the Tyrells, making them less likely to try fucking up with us too much and help secure their position as well.Not to mention that Durran had fallen hard for Margery and I inherited his crush, which was another double edged blade to deal with.

  
  


"So, how has it been around here? Anything too interesting you didn't write about?" I asked, changing the topic.

  
  


I wasn't up to speed with the more current events in King's Landing. I got dumped in Dorran's head last night, just after he came back from Storm's End. That thought sent my mind racing again.

  
  


The Stormlands currently were another can of worms. While, Renly liked me, he was far from thrilled that soon enough I was supposed to be replacing him as the acting Lord of the Stormlands. Technically it was about time, with both myself and Joff being of age for the past couple of years.

  
  


"Not really. I wrote you about everything of importance," Mother informed me.

  
  


She did write , sending me ravens at least weekly while I was away from the snake pit,  though r oughly half of those letters contained gossip and useless trivia instead of anything even r emotely useful.

  
  


The rest of the breakfast passed in relative silence while we had some utterly trivial small talk, disrupted only by Joff’s whining about marrying a northern savage.

  
  


** = Sith = **

  
  


** Queen's Chambers  
Red Keep  
King's Landing **

  
  


Eventually Joff went to torture something or someone, and my other siblings left to meet their tutors, which left me to have a private conversation with mother. We retreated to her private chambers, which were rather well furnished, when you take into account the general tech level of Westeross. In practice, even the luxury of the Royal quarters within the Red Keep couldn't make up for the lost high tech comforts someone from a world like twenty first century Earth, not to mention the Corcusca galaxy, would take for granted.

  
  


We went deep within Cersei's sanctuary after she chased out her serving girls. Once we were reasonably sure of our privacy, I turned towards my mother and frowned. This was going to be one unpleasant conversation.

  
  


Before broaching the subject of murder and treason, I walked around, looking for eavesdroppers and hidden passages where someone could be hiding. Cersei noticed my actions and looked confused for a moment, before figuring out what I was doing and pointing me in the right direction. There was no one skulking around in either of the three secret passages leading out of the Queen's chambers.

  
  


"What is so important that you take such precautions, my son? While I'm glad you are taking the Game seriously enough, I can't help, but wonder what have you go to such lengths to secure a private conversation." Cersei’s tone betrayed her sudden worry.

  
  


"Oh, I'm sure you know well enough, mother," I almost sneered at her, though I was able to barely keep my expression and voice neutral. "I know," I declared.

  
  


My only answer was a raised eyebrow.

  
  


"Who is my real father. And my siblings'…"

  
  


Those words got me a reaction. Oh, they did.

  
  


Cersei blanched and looked wildly around us. The shocked look on her face, the way she became deathly pale, they were telling. But in the end, it was her eyes which told me the truth. Yeah... I got the confirmation I needed in order to proceed planning multiple murders.

  
  


"We need to have a looong conversation, mother..." I smiled at her.

  
  


If the way her eyes widened was anything to go by, she wasn't reassured by my expression.

  
  


" _ The morning Jon Arryn died, the Game of Thrones changed.  _ _ A new player marched on the board and from then on, I was certain of only one thing. My Prince would be King even if we had to wade through rivers of blood to make that dream a reality _ _!" _

  
  


\- Ser Marrek Storm, Sworn Shield of Prince Durran Baratheo n

  
  


_ "It's a small thing,  _ _ r _ _ eally. I didn't think that Jon Arryn knew the truth. Even if he did, it died with him. I truly believed that.  _ _ However _ _ , in the end, it simply didn't matter. Some of us thought that he died of sickness. Others, that he was poisoned. The truth, well it was irrelevant,  _ _ you know. The Hand of the King  _ _ was dead  _ _ so obviously, t _ _ he King needed a new Hand... We were to prepare for a journey to the North. _

  
  


_ Winterfell... That's where everything changed… _ "

  
  


\- Ser Jamie Lannister, Kingsguard

  
  


** =Sith= **

  
  


** Chapter 1:  How to sow a storm **

  
  


** =Sith= **

  
  


** Part 1 **

  
  


** =Sith= **

  
  


**The Red Keep**

** King’s Landing **

  
  


After a heart to heart conversation with Cersei, which  would  hopefully keep her from fucking my “uncle” Jamie, I found myself drifting and plotting.  When I exited my mother’s chambers, my personal Kingsguard, Ser Arys Oakheart fell in a step behind me on my right, while my Sworn Shield, Ser Marrek Storm took his place on the left. 

  
  


Oakheart has been my personal bodyguard for close to a decade now, and one of the few people Durran explicitly trusted. From his memories, our memories now, I could conclude that he wasn’t necessary wrong in that assessment. Arys was a tall, broad-shouldered man with light-brown hair, that was just a shade or two darker than a proper Lannister blond. That very thought made me shook my head trying to get away from the various nonsense Cersei has been doing her best to fill said head with over the years. In other words, Lannister red and gold were best colors ever and woe to anyone who didn’t agree… My official bodyguard wore  the white scale-mail armour  he preferred  under a tunic embodied with a golden oak three – the sigil of his House. A light woolen cloak painted blinding white hung behind him held by a pair of pins shaped like tiny oak threes as well. 

  
  


Arys was anything but a small man, yet Marrek towered a head above him and rumour had it that he was just a bit smaller than father in his prime. A brutal mace and a wicked hunting knife hung from his belt, which occasionally scrapped against his knee long scale mail. The usually jovial man had a perpetual grimace on his face ever since we approached King’s Landing yesterday. This was his second long visit to the city after he entered my service two years ago and he swore he would never get used to the bloody damned stench, a sentiment that I shared. This city was the stuff that fully sealed environmental armours were made for, and barring that, it begged to be burned from orbit until there was only a glassed crater left, before your quarantined everything in a thousand kilometer radius just in case. 

  
Did I mention that even in the Red Keep the city’s stench was oppressive? 

  
  


“Where to, Your Highness?” Arys inquired. 

  
  


“I need to stretch my legs and think.” I announced and promptly turned around when I remembered that barring a short knife I was unarmed. We passed through my quarters so I could retrieve my sword belt, complete with the sword that came with it and a full coin purse and headed for the stables. 

  
  


Servants and courtiers bowed and scurried out of our way, immediately getting on my nerves. I really didn’t have the temperament for this shit but given the circumstances, simply running away and hoping for the best wasn’t a course of action that was likely to see me living to a ripe old age.

  
  


First things first. Available assets – a small nest egg gathered from my lavish monthly stipend of a thousand gold dragons… which was a ridiculously large sum no matter how you sliced and diced it considering I had no real expenses to speak of before taking Marrek as my Swor n  Shield and needing to provide for him. That was merely another proof that my father didn’t get economics nor did he care for  _copper_ _s counting_ as he gleefully put it every time the topic of money came up. Luckily for me, Durran hadn’t been exactly thrilled by the idea of ending up like Robert and failed to drink, whore and gamble away the majority of his stipend. That in turn meant that I was supposed to have access to somewhere around twenty thousand golden dragons, more money than the populations of whole villages and even smallish towns would ever earn through their lives, much less see in one place. 

  
  


In other words, I was practically filthy rich and had enough disposable gold for various projects and a lot of necessary bribes. That was the good news. Now figuring out how to best make said money work for me was going to be tougher, because among other problems I had to look up to paying Robert’s debts without selling the throne to my grandfather. Perhaps renting the damn thing so people could sit on it while I made something more comfortable the royal chair? Nah, it wouldn’t work, right? 

  
  


Where was I? Assets. I was a bloody Prince, which did offer me some clout and a lot of scrutiny. The former would be helpful, the later a major pain in the ass, but there was no helping it. 

  
  


More assets? Whatever I could misplace from the Red Keep and offload on the black market, but that was a concern for later. 

  
  


What did I need ASAP? Well, I needed spies, agents and a small cadre of loyal men and women. Just the pair dutifully marching behind me wasn’t going to cut it though it was nice to have someone watching my back. 

  
  


What else? Well, I needed to see for myself what I had to work with while trying to figure out what I knew that could make gold flow my way in enough quantity to make a difference on national scale. There were those millions of debt to pay, potential civil war to fight in order to keep my head, assassinations to pay for, people to bribe, long term projects to finance…

Perhaps I should have secluded myself in my room with a quill and a stack of parchment first… 

  
  


All right. Goals, and how to achieve them: Goal the first, keep yours truly alive, which was going to prove harder said than done. 

  
  


Goal number two, keep Cella safe and happy, murder the fuck of everyone who looks funny her way in novel and terrible ways. 

  
Goal the third, get more gold, all the gold. 

  
  


Goal three point one, figure out how to get said gold. 

  
  


Goal four, recruit a small retinue of people I could actually trust - again, easier said than done. 

  
  


Goal five, build my own reliable spy network, complete with the odd wet-works team, though the latter I could fold in the previous goal. 

  
  


Goal six, make sure that certain people croak ASAP, without it being traced back to me. In no particular order, Joff, also known as dead man walking, Varys, our unlamented spymaster, Little Finger, the little prick… father before he figures out I’m all Lannister, unless I find some crazy way to make everyone believe that my looks notwithstanding, I’m more Baratheon than most real Baratheons… 

  
  


Goal seven, find a way to deal with the Ta r gs across the sea.

  
  


Goal eight – prepare to face off Ice zombies and their masters who would want to eat my face or worse. 

  
  


I was sure I would be adding a lot of points to this goal list once I fully got over the predicament I found myself in and could consider more angles, opportunities and threats. 

  
  


** =Sith= **

  
  


** Part 2 **

  
  


** =Sith= **

  
  


** Street of Steel **

** King’s Landing **

When  one visit s the Street of Steel, it’s practically impossible to miss the largest house built at its upper end, which was probably by design. Nowadays, this was the home and workshop of arguably the best and wealthiest smith in the city if not all the Seven Kingdoms, one Tobho Mott.  The blacksmith’s workshop took the whole first floor of the wood and plaster house, though to be fair, a part of the place was set aside to act as an actual shop. The man himself was outside, swinging a hammer at a red hot piece of metal at his anvil, while a young apprentice looked attentively at his work. Two younger boys were busy working the bellows, while another one kept an eye on display racks with various pieces of armour and weaponry. 

  
  


The Master Blacksmith was an older man who appeared to be in his mi d  fifties. He was bald, with short, carefully cropped graying beard, which was nonetheless singed. While a thick leather mantle kept his front reasonably safe, his thick, trunk like arms were bare and covered with all kinds of burns – occupational hazard I guessed. 

  
  


While we approached the workshop, the smell of burning c harcoal managed to overwhelm the stench of King’s Landing, reaffirming Durran’s conclusion that this was one of the best places in the city. As we came closer and Mott recognized us, he stiffened and glanced warily at his apprentice, which naturally made me took a closer look at the lad. Huh, he looked rather familiar, like my half brother Eddard Storm, who was the ward of Storm End’s Castellan… So father strikes again, I guessed, briefly wondering if I could make me a small army if I gathered all my half siblings and offered them to work for me… 

  
  


“Master Mott, good to see you again!” I proclaimed cheerfully. I knew the man, kind of, he made my current sword and it was a fine blade, worth its almost exorbitant price. 

  
  


“Your Highness,” The old man stepped away from the anvil and gave me a respectful bow. “How can I be of service?”

  
  


“I have a few ideas I want to run by you, Master Mott, though I don’t think that all of them would be an appropriate challenge for someone of your ability.” 

  
  


“I do have apprentices and Journeymen working for me, however if it’s for you, I’ll do it myself, Your Highness. Only the best for the Prince!” He buttered me with a grin. 

  
  


Only the best and most expensive as befitting anything made personally by a Master Blacksmith, right. 

  
  


“Shall we discuss what I need inside?” I nodded towards the house. 

  
  


Mott smiled wildly, removed his apron and handed it to my half-brother. “Gendry, m ind the workshop .” The blacksmith nodded at  the lad  and waved us towards the house. 

  
  


The entrance was impressive as ever. The double doors were thick and covered with carved ebony and weirwood showing a hunting scene, and they almost paled in comparison to the “guards” flanking them. A pair of large stone statues stood beside the entrance and each of them wa s clad in a full suit of red shining armour, one shaped like a griffin and the other like a unicorn. It was a most impressive craftsmanship and a great way for Mott to advertise his skills. 

  
The Master smith led us through towards a stairway leading to the second floor. “Maya, bring us ale! Hurry, girl!” Mott shouted. “Come, come and make yourselves comfortable!” He waved at us eagerly  and  went up the stairs like a man half his age. Arys went up first, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword, while Marrek remained behind me and I was sure he was looking warily around. Good men. 

  
  


“Come on in, Your Highness.” My bodyguard announced that it was clear and I went up the stairs. 

  
  


The second floor was divided in two – one large living room, and a smaller one to the side separated by a wooden wall and a simple door, leading to a bath, a privy or both. The larger room contained a decent sized bed covered with various furs, at a glance I could see a black bear one and at leas two wolf pelts. Our host ushered us towards a big stout table flanked by two benches just as light feet came running up the stairs. 

  
  


“Ale, Master Mott.” A timid voice announced. 

  
  


I looked back at the stairway to see a slim girl  wearing a plain woolen dress come up wearing a wooden tray with a clay carafe filled with bubbling ale.  She had shoulder length curly brown hair, large black eyes and quite nice curves forming at all the right places. I shook my head at and had to stop myself from groaning. Fucking teenage hormones, dealing with those was going to be a nightmare.  Perhaps a visit to one of the better brothels might be in order, then again doing so might end with me getting many of the diseases known to man, not to mention it would be too close to father’s favourite past time. Then again, it wasn’t like Durran have been exactly celibate…

  
  


“A nice home you have here, Master Mott.” I said and sat at one end of the closer bench, valiantly trying to keep my mind on topic. Seriously, fuck being teenager! “I like what you’ve done with the place.” We waited until the girl poured us mugs of ale and made herself scarce before we began talking business. 

  
  


“How can I be of service, Your Highness? You mentioned multiple projects?” The blacksmith’s eyes shone in anticipation. 

  
  


“That I did, Master Mott. I’ll need to run a few of them past the members of the blacksmith’s guild. I believe you’ll be able to arrange a meeting? How does the end of the week sound?” I began.

  
  


“I’m sure my colleagues are going to be eager to hear what you have in mind.” Mott nodded. 

  
  


I wasn’t so sure about that, but we would see. 

  
“Meanwhile, I do need a few things done. How long would it take to create a hundred identical copies of each letter of the alphabet? About this large?” I raised a hand demonstrated with thumb and index finger. 

  
  


“About a finger joint in size?” Mott rubbed his chin. 

  
  


“Yes. Ten copies of each letter in double that size as well.” Frankly, I was talking about my arse. I hadn’t done any math about how many letters I would need to fill up a page, however this request was going to be feasible to be done _soonish_ so I could get a proof of concept working. I considered asking the blacksmith to make a frame for the press, though that wasn’t really necessary. I would be passing through the carpenter’s guild to have a chat with the people there and see for myself what workforce they had available and get one done there.

  
  


This was both about getting gold flowing my way and necessary for the newest addition to my rough goals list – set up the foundation of a proper bureaucracy. Somewhere in there was a vague plan to get the Faith and Maesters on my side so we could monopolize mass production of books to sell to the nobles. A few special editions of the Seven Pointed Star might raise quite a lot of gold if I could con all the noble Houses in Westeros in buying them because they would be the hottest new thing.  Speaking about books, I had vague plans of creating the first proper paper in Westeros if not Planetos as well to serve as my personal propaganda  outlet , bringing the right news to the masses… who in turn would need to be able to read and write sooner rather than later, because my bureaucratic horror machine would need people to run it… Well, that was a worry for another time…

  
  


** =Sith= **

  
  


** Part 3 **

  
  


** =Sith= **

  
  


** A lchemist s’ Guild  
King's Landing  **

  
  


Seeing the Pyromancer s’ Guild building with my eyes stirred a memory loose in my head. Barrels of green death left to stew for more than a decade in the bowels of the city, perhaps below our bloody feet right then and there. It took all the willpower I had t o not do something stupid as I recalled that we were all extremely lucky to be alive right now. New number one goal, go confront “uncle” Jamie about the reason why he killed Aerys the insane pyromaniac as soon as I was done with the current task, figure out how the break the news without loosing a potentially very useful assets and perhaps earn my real father’s undying respect and gratitude as well… not to mention keep Jamie alive, because once it dawned to people how much of an imbecile he has been, they might off him on general principle, saving King’s Landing notwithstanding. 

  
  


An acolyte met us at the doors while another one ran to summon the chief fire loving maniac. The lad led us into something that suspiciously looked like a primitive chemistry lab. I had just a few moments to look around before the Wisdom practically ran in, grinning like a loon. He was apparently tickled pink to have royal attention. 

  
  


“While this setup is certainly impressive, I can’t help but notice that it’s a bit run-down.” I shook my head sadly. “This simply wouldn’t do, do you agree, Wisdom…?” I trailed off. 

  
  


The chief pyromaniac was an old man complete with a short white beard. He wore a leather cap that hid any hair he might have and was dressed in thick leather clothes that might or might not offer some protection against whatever the maniacs were busy cooking nowadays. He also had a thick metal chain around his neck, which was a ringer for those worn by the Maesters. 

  
  


“I’m Hallyne the Pyromancer, Your Highness!” The man introduced himself with an eager nod. “It’s an honour that you grace us with your presence!” 

  
  


“It’s good to meet you, Wisdom Hallyne.” I made a grand show of waving around. “We can’t have such an important place be so run-down!” I exclaimed aloud making the Wisdom and the acolytes jump. “What would it take to make this laboratory among the best both in Westeros and Essos?” I demanded. 

  
  


Hallyne’s eyes did their best to pop out of their sockets once my words registered, they shone with glee as well and he began reciting by heart what he needed. I was sure that most of what he wanted would need to be specially build for the guild and thus damn expensive, which was another incentive to get myself a healthy income beyond my stipend. 

  
  


“That’s all? I’ll make sure you get the necessary dragons for such worthy endeavour as soon as I can!” I clasped my hands. 

  
  


My hosts fell over themselves at that statement. 

  
  


“That said, I can think of a few things that you can do to help me expedite that process.” I smiled like the fox that found the chicken coop wide open. “I believe you’re in the unique position to help me help you!” 

  
  


“Of course, Your Highness! What do you need?” The Chief Wisdom blurted out without thinking.

  
  


“There are a few worthy projects I have in mind,” I began. Who would have thought that gaining the allegiance of the local pyromaniacs would be so simple? I just needed to throw some money at the problem and give them rough directions towards building some crude primitive napalm… and I was sure that the mere thought gave hardons to the creepy bastards. I was sure that they would start trying to combine napalm and wildfire… something I had to make sure would be attempted as far away from the city as practical.

  
  


A rough description on the basics behind a steam engine followed, though most of it would have to be recreated by the local worthies. I promised to send some blacksmiths their way once they had a preliminary design, but only after I extracted a promise that they won’t be testing how it might work with wildfire. Why did I think coming her e was a good idea, I might never know…

  
  


“You can try running a prototype or two with your special concoctions after we’ve made sure we have the device properly working.” I said in a soothing tone, something that made the Wisdom light up like a little kid in a candy store. “One more thing, Wisdom Hallyne. I found some Valyrian scrolls that explained how to make some kind of exploding powder and I thought you might be interested in it.” 

  
  


“Exploding powder… I’ve heard stories about something like that but I believe the knowledge has been lost…” The Wisdom hummed. 

  
  


“It is supposed to be a mixture of three elements, which if mixed in proper proportion will explode if exposed to fire or even just a spark. However the scrolls were in a very bad condition. What I found out was that two of the elements were sulfur and charcoal as for the third...” I shrugged helplessly. I had no idea how to explain potassium nitrate and I couldn’t recall what was its natural bloody form, damn it. This was one of the cases where meshing my memories with Durran’s wasn’t particularly helpful. 

  
  


“We’ll figure it out if its at all possible!” Hallyne assured me with a distant look in his eyes. “We’ll have our hands full thanks to you, Your Highness!” He added happily. “Do you know how this powder might compare to wildfire?” 

  
  


“From the brief descriptions that survived, it certainly won’t be as potent but it should be more stable.” 

  
  


“Perhaps if we mix them once we figure it out...” The Wisdom began muttering to himself.

  
  


Note to self, find the money to build the pyromaniacs a new compound safely outside the city and figure out how to persuade the maniacs to keep proper notes of their knowledge, research and experiments in King’s Landing, far away from a building they might blow up…

  
  


“Speaking about stability, I’m ready to pay good money for a more stable and safe to handle version of wildfire. It might be great for naval combat and during sieges.”

  
  


“We’ve been trying to do that for ages now, Your Highness, unfortunately...” The Wisdom shrugged helplessly. “When we eventually succeed it will be glorious!” He declared with utter conviction. 

  
  


I wondered who was crazier, the resident chief pyromaniac or my mother. I shook my head, that thought couldn’t lead to anything good. “Perhaps letting the wildfire age to lose a bit of its potency...” I suggested. They must have surely tried that, right?  
  
  


“No, no!” Hallyne sharply shook his head. “The older it gets, the less stable wildfire becomes.” 

  
  


Ah, yeah. That. Fuck me and fuck Jamie, the bloody fool...

  
  


** =Sith= **

  
  


** Part 4 **

  
  


** =Sith= **

  
  


** The  Red Keep **

** King’s Landing **

  
  


On the way back to the keep, I had to endure funny looks from my two shadows, all the while I was busy trying to figure out how to play confronting Jamie. There was no question that I’ve suddenly changed and it would be noticed. Hells, it was already noticed by at least two people, though I still held hope that there won’t be too many awkward questions I couldn’t properly answer.  That said, needs must, I had more immediate issues to tackle. First I needed to get hold of my “uncle” and ask him pointed questions. If we were all very, very lucky, what everyone knew was for once the truth and we didn’t stood upon enough unstable alchemical hellfire to wipe the city off the map. 

  
  


For some reason, I wasn’t feeling optimistic on that note, even though I could see a silver lining. If we managed to play our cards right, and didn’t blow up in the process, any attempt a t Targaryen restoration would face widespread and armed resistance because no one would want the crazies back in charge. The obvious downside was that if Daenerys manages to hatch a bunch of flying, fire-breathing WMDs and lived long enough for them to grown up, almost all arguments against her heritage would become a moot point. The prospect of dying thanks to flying, man-eating flamethrowers tended to have such effect on people, just go ask Aegon the Conqueror. 

  
  


Another plus was that with a bit of luck, I might come out of this smelling like roses and having a great deal of goodwill and appreciation to work with. 

  
Once we got out of the city proper and on the ramp leading to the Red Keep I slowed down my horse to a mere trot and leaned back in the saddle. “Sers, I’ve had a thought I hope for all our sake  it  is merely a paranoid one.” I began after looking around to be sure no one was in a position to overhear us. “Back during the sack, my uncle Jamie killed the mad King and his Hand, the then Chief Pyromaniac. What do you think of the odds that those two crazy bastards stuck as much wildfire below the city in preparation to burn it to the ground along with any rebels who might have breached the walls?” 

  
  


Both Arys and Marrek stared at me with expressions of growing horror. 

  
  


“And if that was the case, what are the odds of that fucking thing being left to ferment below our very feet for more than a decade now?” I added. 

  
  


“We need to speak with Ser Jamie...” Arys came to his senses first and spurred his horse into a gallop and we followed. Thankfully, I did inherit Durran’s skills, of which horse ridding was in fact the most useful one, with writing with a damned quill being the second one on the list, I hoped. 

  
  


We skidded to a halt in the courtyard, handed the reins of our horses to a confused Red Cloak who was conveniently nearby and headed into the keep with Oakheart leading and asking about Jamie’s whereabouts.  Soon a flustered servant told us that the King had headed to visit Lord Arryn, with Jamie and Ser Selmy in tow so we had to backtrack and had to head for the Tower of the Hand. 

  
  


A pair of Arryn Men at Arms stood guard at the entrance and confirmed what the servant just told us before waving us through, probably assuming that we were either in to pay our respects to their ill liege or on important business. My companions’ pale visage could be interpreted either way, I guessed. We went past the Small Hall, where the Small Council often met, and headed up the stairs leading towards the Hand’s private audience chamber, bedroom and the quarters for his family when they were in King’s Landing.  The only people we met were a handful of servants who hurried to get out of our way and soon we reached the audience chamber. It was richly decorated with Myrish rugs and wall hangings, bookshelves and various knick-knacks favoured by Lord Arryn. The morning sun shone through gold tinted round windows and an open wooden door leading to a small balcony overlooking the gardens. 

  
Most importantly, Jamie was there, leaning on the wall near the stairway leading up. 

  
  


“Arys, Durran!” My “uncle” greeted us with a grin. 

  
  


“Ser Jamie.” Oakheart glowered.

  
  


“Uncle, we need to know something and I hope for all our sakes, you’re going to tell us the truth right here and now!” I began before my bodyguard could said something else. “When you killed the mad King, why did you do it? Was it just because the crazy bastard demanded you bring him grandfather’s head or was there something more? Like the reason you gutted the chief pyromaniac styling himself as Hand of the King? A reason like barrels of wildfire stashed across the city?” I demanded before Jamie could even think about denying or any excuses. 

  
  


My word had the desired effect. Jamie flinched back as if struck and his cocky smile vanished without a trace. He blanched and looked away. 

  
  


“Durran, I...’ My father stammered, words failing him. 

  
  


“Damn it, man, are there barrels of wildfire below our feet as we speak or not?! That’s what we need to know right now!” Marrek lost his patience and demanded answers. 

  
  


“Aye, but they should be harmless...” Jamie stammered.

  
  


At that moment, more than anything else, I wanted to reach out and strangle the bloody imbecile with his ridiculous white cloak. 

  
  


“You bloody fool...” I hissed at Jamie.

  
  


“What’s that racket down there?” A familiar, less than pleased voice demanded and we heard the familiar sound of heavy boots on stone as someone rand down the stairs. 

  
  


Ser Selmy appeared a moment later, frown marring his face. “Ser Jamie, Ser Oakheart, Your Highness...” He greeted us in turn as he took in our presence. “There is a very sick man upstairs; Lord Arryn doesn’t need to be disturbed. What is this about?” The old knight added in a quiet voice that brook no argument. 

  
  


“Are you going to tell him, uncle, or should I?” I looked at my father. 

  
  


“Erm, you see… There’s nothing...” 

  
“Wildfire doesn’t lose potency with age, it grows more powerful and unstable! A bloody rat or some poor bastard going at the wrong place can easily set it off and kill us all!” I snapped at the imbecile masking as my uncle. 

  
  


“What wildfire?!” Barristan demanded.

  
  


“Uncle over here, in his infinite wisdom, failed to mention to anyone the real reason he killed that prick Aerys. The madman and his pyromaniac friends had stashed wildfire all over the city intending to burn it down if a rebel army breached the walls. Either that or that maniac wanted to try and become a dragon or something by burning the city to the ground.” I fumed and jabbed a finger at Jamie’s chest. “And this idiot over here didn’t mention it to anyone. We’ve been standing on the Seven only know how many barrels of wildfire, which could blow up at the slightest of disturbances!” I spat, finally loosing my temper. 

  
  


Everyone stared at Jamie with either dawning horror, contempt or as if they were trying to figure out what kind of imbecile he was. 


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This update was betaed by Sbiper on the alternative history forums. Thank you very much!**

  
  


**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter** **2** **  
  
=Sith=  
  
Part ** **1** **  
  
** **Jamie Lannister**

**  
The Red Keep  
King’s Landing **

Jamie squirmed and looked wildly around. And to think he believed his second son was such a nice child, nothing like Joffrey. Well, now he knew better, Durran could be straight up cunt like the best of them. Did he have to take after Tywin in this of all things?!  
  
He bristled, stared his accusers in the eyes and flinched back at what he saw in there. Worst of all, it was the disappointment and anger written all over Durran’s face and the disgust that old Barristan radiated. This… this wasn’t like being caught sitting on the Iron Throne in jest, neither being found red handed besides the monster he had been sworn to protect. Truth to be told, while it used to sting to be called Kingslayer, well it did fit. Not only it was the truth, if anyone in this world needed killing, it was Aerys. Besides, it wasn’t like that was his only crime as a Kingsguard. The things he saw and heard while protecting that maniac, yet didn’t dare say or do a thing…  
  
Jamie shook himself from those morbid thoughts. They were ancient history now. It didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like anyone asked then, or cared for that matter. Why would anyone give a damn now? Besides the obvious, anyway… The Kingsguard shook himself and tried to put on his usual smile, which failed to materialize as he stared into Durran’s eyes and perhaps for the first time in his life, he truly regretted his choices. That gaze, it cut deeper than even Valyrian steel ever could.  
  
The lad took a deep breath while the others were too busy losing their courage, quietly cursing Jamie or both. Durran raised a hand, his face briefly twisted in a mixture of fury and intense disappointment, and bellowed: “Enough of this! Ser Barristan, would you kindly go upstairs and summon my father? The King needs to know of this, right now. Ser Oakheart, I believe I’m not overstepping my station in requesting that you go out and gather all available members of the Small Council? I’m sure that the King will need to speak with them soon. We’ll meet in the Small Chambers bellow.”  
  
Durran’s tone snapped Jamie out of his daze. The lad had a nice pair of lungs in his chest, and as importantly, he spoke like an experienced battlefield commander. There was no place of argument in his tone, not a shred of doubt in his pose, just conviction, even the words themselves were apparently well chosen.  
  
Selmy, the old warhorse shook himself, gave one piercing look to Durran and offered the lad a nod of respect before glaring at Jamie and hurrying up the stairs, where his fatness himself was bellowing something.  
  
“As you wish, my Prince.” Oakheart said and ran down the stairs, leaving only Durran and his Sworn Shield who had a murderous expression on his face. Storm’s hands rested lightly on the hilts of his weapons as he glared daggers at Jamie. Under almost any other circumstances, the Kingsguard would have answered such a challenge with cocky grin and a baited the bastard to a duel.  
  
Now? He simply felt tired.  
  
“WHAT?!” His fatness roared so loud the windows rang in their frames. “Bring me that feckless bastard of a Lannister!” So much for keeping quiet for the sick Hand.  
  
“Let’s go face the music, uncle.” Durran grumbled. “I’ll do my best to keep you head away from the chopping block and ass from freezing at the Wall if at all possible.” His son added in barely a whisper as he headed up towards the Hand’s bed chambers.

**Robert Baratheon**

Every time Robert looked at Jon’s laying form, his second father appeared that much frailer and older. To think that in just a day the disease could turn the old man into this shadow of his former self… And the smell, it didn’t bode well, something that Pycelle the ancient useless bastard confirmed. Or at least Robert thought so; it was hard to make sense of the hemming and hawing of the old bastard. **  
  
**“Gods damn it, Jon...” The King grumbled and scowled at the commotion happening downstairs. What took Selmy so long to sort it out….. Robert frowned when the oldest and ironically still most capable and reliable Kingsguard he had ran upstairs as if demons from the depths of the Seven Hells were on his heels. The man looked pale as well and if Robert didn’t know better, he would have concluded that Barristan the Bold was afraid, which was of course a ridiculous notion! **  
  
**“My King, I come bringing grave news...” Selmy declared in a grave voice, while still wearing that weird expression on his face. It wasn’t quite fear, Robert decided. “Ser Jamie finally admitted why he killed the Mad King...” **  
  
**“We all know why...” Robert said dismissively. This couldn’t be, surely? What was wrong with Barristan? Was he going sick as well? **  
  
**“No, sire, we didn’t know. Aerys had stashed barrels of wildfire below the city, intending to burn it all down...” Selmy hastily explained and Robert froze where he stood, his thoughts crashing to a halt. **  
  
**“He did WHAT?” The question came out as a wheezed out hiss and as if what Robert just heard wasn’t enough, he felt his chest constricting while he struggled to comprehend the news. “Bring me that feckless bastard of a Lannister!” He roared. “I want to hear him myself!” Robert added in a lower tone when he saw Jon stir and shake in his bed. **  
  
**Only then he remembered that Pycelle was still here. The old Maester had grown white like snow and was shaking like a leaf in the wind. “By the Seven...” He was muttering in shock. **  
  
**“Bah...” Robert shook his head in disgust. That man was useless sack of shit. He looked back at the stairs and saw Selmy coming back up with his son Durran in tow, followed by the Kingslayer and the lad’s Sworn Shield. **  
  
**“Father,” Durran nodded gravely. “You heard the news?” **  
  
**“That I did, my boy. Lannister! Speak up! Why didn’t say something earlier, man? Are you dumb or just a gilded up court jester?!” **  
  
**The blond prick grimaced and refused to meet his eyes, further infuriating Robert. He was about to go grab and shook the fucking Lannister when his son stepped in between them. **  
  
**“Father, you can throw him off the tower later, first we need to deal with the wildfire below our feet before some Seven damned rat scurries in the wrong place and blows us up sky high!” Durran’s angry voice made a dent in Robert’s growing rage. “Maester Pycelle, you were around back in the day. Where do you think Aerys and his crazy friends would have stashed wildfire for best effect?” **  
  
**Predictably, Pycelle blubbered uselessly. **  
  
**“Speak up, damn you!” Durran roared, demonstrating perhaps for the first time that he had inherited something of that good old Baratheon temper. **  
  
**“The tunnels below the keep! The Targaryen tunnels!” Pycelle squeaked aloud after Durran took a threatening step his way. So the idiotic old bastard could make sense with the proper incentive, Robert concluded. **  
  
**“Where else?” Durran demanded. **  
  
**“That’s a good question! Speak!” Robert added his own roar. **  
  
**Pycelle took a step back and began speaking. “Perhaps under the gates, at least a few caches in various districts for best effect…” **  
  
**“We need to find those barrels and figure out how to remove them, very carefully or we’ll all burn.” Durran declared and turned to look at Robert. “Father, I took the initiative to have Ser Oakheart summon your Small Council downstairs. I don’t believe we have any time to lose and I hope I haven’t overstepped my...” **  
  
**Robert tuned out his son’s words while examining him with new eyes. This was quite different compared to the lad he sent to Storm’s End and he mentally patted himself on the back for the great decision. Penrose and the Stormlands were obviously great for the lad! Perhaps, he should have sent Durran over there ever earlier. Joffrey too, for that matter. He shook his head and smiled at his son. **  
  
**“Good lad. Now to deal with the Kingslayer’s fuck up before it kills us all. Lannister, I’ll deal with you once this is over, mark my words!”

**=Sith=**

**Part 2**

**=V** **arys** **=**

**Small Council Chamber**

**Tower of the Hand**

**King’s Landing**

Information and secrets, those always were the most precious commodities in King’s Landing, especially in the heart of the Red Keep. That’s why, surprises tended to be one of the few things Varys despised almost as much as any and all forms of magic, almost but not quite. He appreciated even less being summoned to a Small Council meeting without knowing in advance the reason for said meeting. It made him feel off balance, not to mention it was proof of a professional failing. He was the Master of Whispers after all and had over two decades to entrench webs of agents across the realm, creating a huge spider web centred upon the city. There wasn’t supposed be anything of real importance happening that he didn’t learn as soon as the news reached the capital; he spent tremendous amount of time, effort and gold to make it so.  
  
And yet, here he was, being escorted by that brute Kettleback to the Tower of the Hand. The Kingsguard opened the door leading to the Small Council chamber, offered a grunt and stepped aside. Varys offered a false smile in response and went right in. It could be worse, he guessed. For example, all the members of the Kingsguard might have been properly paranoid and much, much harder to manipulate. When all was said and done, stupid brutes who you could exploit were much easier to handle.  
  
Varys walked into the chamber with a disarming smile on his face and eyes prowling for any and all clues he could put to good use. Surprisingly enough, the King was inside, sitting heavily at the chair usually reserved for the Hand. Robert was nursing a cup of ale and glaring thunderously at everything and everyone unfortunate enough to get his attention. Three Kingsguard were present as well, which was most unusual. First and foremost was Selmy himself, who stood behind the King with a hand on his sword. Next came Ser Oakheart, one of the few Kingsguard who actually attempted to live up to their vows, and whose presence became self-explanatory, because Prince Durran was in attendance, sitting to his father’s right. Finally, there was Jamie Lannister, who looked as if he saw a ghost. Oh, my… Did Robert finally figure out he had been made a stag, literally? Then again, the Prince didn’t appear frightened or shocked at all, merely angry so it was an open question what the King knew.  
  
Nevertheless it was telling – two Kingsguard stood behind their charges, one Sworn Shield as well, however Jamie stood alone… and received the odd dirty and angry look from the present men. This promised to be a most interesting meeting. It was too bad Varys didn’t know about it in advance so he could better position himself to advance his cause. He made a note to investigate how this, whatever it was, slipped through the net and bowed deeply at the royals.  
  
“My King, Your Highness…”  
  
“Varys, you’re slipping.” Yet another surprise revealed itself – those words came from the Prince, who fixed the Spymaster with a pair of furious eyes. “You were here during the last days of the Mad King’s reign...” Durran trailed off. “Do you care to guess why are we here?”  
  
Varys blinked owlishly at the Prince and for once he didn’t have to feign at all his surprised expression. Of course, it was a lie, because at that moment cold hand gripped his insides and tendrils fear crawled up his spine, which he managed to keep off his face. Did they know? How could they know?!  
  
“I’m sorry, My Prince, My King, but I am at a loss...” The plump man lowered his head in supplication and bit off a hiss as his back cracked at the sudden motion.  
  
“A Mad King, crazy pyromaniacs, can you connect the dots, Varys? You’re the realm’s Spymaster; you’re supposed to keep an eye on such things.” At that moment, Durran’s voice made a great rendition of that of his grandfather; at that moment, Varys decided that he had to re-evaluate the threat the youngster represented upwards by a _significant_ degree.  
  
The Master of Whispers straightened up, his back cracked again to his immense displeasure and his mind raced. On the bright side, he was relieved because apparently no one knew his secrets. On the other hand, he was very much caught on the wrong foot trying to connect the dots as the Prince put it. Aerys, the Wisdoms he loved so much because they provided him with all the wildfire he wanted and were as eager as the crazy bastard to see people burn alive… The obvious connection was that Jamie Lannister did the world a favour by gutting them all, however it was as obvious that this wasn’t the reason he was there.  
  
What did those dead men have to do with the present anyway? More importantly, what did Varys overlook during those perilous days?!  
  
The other two Baratheon brothers chose that moment to arrive together, briefly derailing Varys’ train of thought. He bowed at them as well, laying it thick that he was merely a very eager and loyal servant to the House Baratheon. It was no surprise that Stannis looked as displeased as the King and his false nephew, neither the fact that in contrast, Renly was jovial as usual.  
  
With the arrival of those two, only two more members of the Small Council were missing. Well, technically three, however Varys was sure that a pair of them were upstairs – the Hand was dying from poison, yet to be determined, and Pycelle was doing his diligent best to ensure that Lord Arryn wouldn’t miraculously recover. That left only Little Finger, who at this time was usually down in the city, handling his brothels and his most useful, if transparent plots.  
  
“Stannis, Renly, good, you’re here!” Robert growled like a bull in a rut. The King took a swing from his mug, belched to his youngest brother’s amusement and caused enough vexation in Stannis that Varys could literally hear the poor man grit his teeth as he passed him by. “We’re fucked!” The King declared.  
  
Varys peered at Robert at that statement. While he had gotten accustomed to the King usually being a crude oaf of a man, this was a bit much even for him as an opening of a Small Council meeting.  
  
“What my father meant to say is that we’re all still alive only by the grace of the Seven.” Durran helpfully translated. That was something new coming from the Prince, he had never been particularly pious, though he did the motions as expected by someone of his station.  
  
Aerys, pyromaniacs, lucky to be alive, something that was as much luck as skill in managing the crazy man, but that wasn’t what Durran meant, was it? Suddenly Varys’ mind connected the dots and he blanched.  
  
“And he figures it out.” The Prince nodded at him. “For those of you who come in cold to this particular disaster years in the making…” Duran began only to be interrupted by the King.  
  
“....Fucking wildfire below our feet!” Robert bellowed in an inimitable fashion. “That cunt Aerys stashed dozens if not hundreds of barrels of that demon’s brew all across the city, and that was why Lannister over there gutted the fucks! But did he say something?!” Robert surged to his feet and threw his ale mug across the room, spilling its contents all over the table. “Did you!?” The King turned to glare at his Kingsguard, who refused to meet his eyes.  
  
Wildfire, stewing in the dark for close to two decades. Varys hadn’t felt faint with fear in a very, very long time, but he did so now.  
  
“If it wasn’t for Durran here figuring it out, we would still be none the wiser and one mishap...” Robert waved his huge arms in exasperation.  
  
“And we can all still burn if we fuck up recovering and disposing off the wildfire.” Durran helpfully pointed out.  
  
The only bright side to this unfolding disaster was that Varys wasn’t the only one left speechless at the revelation. Renly gaped like a speared fish, while Stannis gripped the back of the nearest chair and silently shook, while glaring murder at the unfortunate Lannister.  
  
Varys could honestly say he didn’t see this coming. How did he miss something like that?! Ah, yes. He had been too busy trying to not be the next one burning and executing contingencies that would either see him in the good favour of the new regime or spirited away before someone had the bright idea of chopping off his head or worse.  
  
It was still inexcusable! For all he knew, it was sheer dumb luck that he hadn’t stumbled into the wildfire while moving through the warren of tunnels below the Red Keep. That of course brought the obvious question, if there was wildfire down there, how did he miss it? Not that he wanted to be the one to stumble on the stuff considering how often he had been down there with a torch in hand… and at that thought, Varys felt a fresh wave of faintness wash over him. One mishap and he could have caused the whole city to go up in fire...

**=Sith=**

**Part 3**

**=Jamie Lannister=**

**The Red Keep**

**King’s Landing**

The events immediately following the Small Council meeting, and most of the meeting itself for that matter, were a blur for Jamie. All he could think about in the following minutes, even hours, was the danger he had exposed his children, brother and even Cersei to, not to mention that he might have caused by inaction what he tried to prevent all those years ago. He was in a daze, keenly remembering green flames washing up and melting flesh and bone as they consumed too many unfortunates in the throne room itself. The horror of it all, the stench of burning flesh, the mad cackle of the King he had been sworn to protect… the very thought that the same could happen to the whole city because of him shook Jamie to the core.  
  
The Kingsguard was still in shock when Durran spoke to him with barely restrained fury bleeding through into his voice and managed to somehow drag him from the shock.  
  
“You allowed this mess to get this bad uncle, so you’re going to help clean it up.” A pair of flashing angry Lannister eyes stared intently into Jamie, who mutely nodded. “You’ll be one of the people leading the search of the tunnels below our feet.”  
  
“Damn right!” The Fat King agreed with a grunt. For once he was as sober as one could get, likely thanks to the shocking news if nothing else. “Kingslayer, get to it! I want this shite found and out of the city, yesterday!” The King bellowed.  
  
“We need to be careful, father. Consult with the alchemists.” Durran’s face twisted in distaste as he mentioned the name. “They should know how to handle that stuff, hopefully without us all going up in flames.”  
  
“See to it!” His Fatness ordered.  
  
Durran bowed respectfully and all but ran out of the room, his Sworn Shield and Ser Oakheart hot on his heels.  
  
“What are you waiting for, you cunt?” Robert bellowed again, addressing Jamie.  
  
“I’ll get to it, Your Grace.” Jamie answered in a voice he didn’t recognize and left on shaky legs.  
  
The moment he got out of the chamber, the Kingsguard headed for the nearest corner, doubled down and retched, puking out his last meal, feeling sick to the depths of his soul. He spat on the mess, trying to clear his mouth of the sour taste and shook himself. He had a work to do, perhaps the most important one he had left. Jamie went out on unsteady legs searching the captain of the Lannister forces in the keep.  
  
This wasn’t something he could do on his own, no matter how much he wished it would be so. Most importantly, he had to get Cersei and the children out of the city for the time being, if at all possible, persuade Durran to join them, if his second son would only listen to him.  
  


**=Sith=**

  
While the whole Red Keep descended into chaos above them as news of the potential doom spread, Jamie, dozens of Lannister Knights and Men At Arms, Gold Cloaks and Baratheon men descended upon the “secret” tunnels below the citadel and began to slowly and carefully to scour it for any and all traces of wildfire. They used only enclosed lanterns after they got words from the pyromancers that an open fire in the vicinity of old wildfire might be enough to set it up. Just like direct sunlight or a sharp blow might… or as Durran feared – a damned rat jumping up and down barrels that might be partially rotted by now.  
  
It was probably early in the morning when they finally found it, after a young Knight pointed out that one section of a wall didn’t quite look right compared to those around it. A quick discussion followed and a group of men began to carefully take it apart, dreadfully afraid that if they fucked up, the dinky little tunnel might become their tomb. Eventually they managed to remove a few stones kept in place by bad mortar and Jamie grudgingly sniffed at the opening, heedless that the air inside might be bad. His nose scrunched at the sharp familiar smell that he knew all too well because of Aerys the Mad.  
  
“We found it, lads.” Jamie muttered quietly. “Bring down the pyromancers and help me to remove this wall… very slowly and carefully – treat the damn thing as your own newborn children!” He hissed.  
  
One cache down, the Gods only knew how many more they had to find and then remove while praying that there would be no lethal mishaps…  
  
Two hours later they got the wall removed and what they saw inside, hammered down how much Jamie had fucked up by keeping his mouth shut. There were over fifty barrels and at least a dozen clay pots visible in the dull lantern light, and most damningly, at least some of them were leaking, the green shite seeping through ancient stones into the dirt below.  
  
When the pyromaniac in charge saw the mess, he blanched and began cursing quietly, making everyone in earshot become even paler than they already were.  
  
“We need to be damn careful...” The Wisdom mumbled. “Sand…” He eventually added. “We need crates full with sand to depose the wildfire in, then we’ll have to very slowly and gently move them out. “We’ll put them in carts filled with sand as well to minimize any movement as we get them out...” He turned to look at Jamie. “I just don’t know how to safely handle what has already leaked… perhaps more sand so it could seep into it, then we put that sand into clay pots...”  
  
  


**=Durran=**

**  
** **Alchemists’ Guild** **  
  
** **King’s Landing**   
  
  
  
Well, I had to admit that today’s event made sure I couldn’t rely on what I remembered from this world. It has been decades since I became Sith, a bit longer since I saw or read anything about Planetos in general and Westeros in particular. I was pretty sure I didn’t really remember there being wildfire stacked below the city, much less my father confirming it. Or perhaps I’ve read about it, couldn’t recall it consciously and the visit to the alchemist merely allowed me to connect the dots. What else of import I couldn’t recall? What would be different, because this was no book, no holo-drama but a real world?   
  
I didn’t know and without the Force to fall back on, that honestly terrified me. I needed loyal men, as many as possible to watch my back and help keep me alive, especially in the years to come, while I was still stuck in a teenage body. And most damningly of all, I had the nagging s uspicion that I was running out of time, which was bloody ironic considering that I have been stuck into Durran for less than a day…   
  
“Ser Oakheart, please make sure that the Wisdoms report to the Red Keep post haste.” I addressed my bodyguard. “Marrek and I will head for the Red Keep to inform the King that they will be along shortly and do our best to help the search.” I didn’t wait for response, mounted my house and headed for the citadel, with my Sworn Shield dutifully following me.   
  
Luckily, given the situation, my Kingsguard decided that the bomb below our feet was the most clear and present danger to my well-being and didn’t protest, which conveniently left me with my other hopefully trustworthy minion.   
  
“Marrek, as fucked up as the situation is, we need to think about the fallout. It’s going to drag my mother’s family name through the mud, which would reflect badly on us. We need to distance ourselves from the disaster, or even better, ensure that people are aware that it was us who figured out the threat and took the first steps towards neutralizing it. I need you to ensure that the proper rumors are spread, painting us in the best possible light, both here in King’s Landing and the realm as a whole. Emphasize  _why_ Uncle Jamie murdered the Mad King, that he saved the whole city when he did it!” I spoke in a harsh whisper, while my mind spun with possibilities. I had to start working on my PR now, hit the ground running and ensure that the common people were on my side along with as many nobles as possible while I still needed the support of the latter, which would be true for years if not decades to come.   
  
By the time I got to the Red Keep, Marrek had disappeared within the bowels of the city, promising to fulfill his task. Damn it, I needed more agents; this was something that should be done by a network of such people, not a single man! I couldn’t help it and growled in frustration, my temper fraying again. Why Durran hadn’t begin to build his own network of contacts and informers within the capital I would never know. At least the boy had “friends” and vaguely trustworthy people stuck back at Storm’s End, people who I would be calling up to the capital and sounding off as soon as I could. With Jon Arryn poisoned and dying, time was already a precious commodity I was running out of.

**=Sith=**

**Part 4**

**=S** **tannis Baratheon** **=**

**Small Council Chambers**

**King’s Landing**

There weren’t many things that scared Stannis anymore. Facing starvation in the face, while besieged by a massive army  and your younger brother starved right beside you, fighting the Ironborn murderous bastards on multiple occasions, well that tended to redefine a man’s estimation of what a true peril was.

Lately, Stannis had been scared for a different reason – because of the joint investigation he had been running alongside Jon Arryn, who was now on his death bead courtesy to the Lannisters. He had been scared for his daughter and for the Realm as a whole, because unless the King’s affair was handled with utmost caution, there would be another war and this time, it might eclipse Robert’s Rebellion in breadth and scope. A two sided war for the Throne might have been winnable with the Seven Kingdoms emerging from it somewhat intact. One where the Lannisters and Baratheons tore each other apart vying for the Iron Throne on the other hand… He was no fool, he didn’t thrust the Reach, and with the Hand dead and his heir and next Warden of The East a sickly boy who still suckled at his mother’s teat, the Vale was out of the picture. Would the North and Riverlands call the banners to put him on the Throne as it would be his right and duty if the lions manage to take Robert down?

Stannis wanted to believe it would be so. Eddard Stark was supposed to be a n honourable man, one of the few true such men at their level. Jon Arryn was another such man, who did his best both to live up to his House’s words and do what was right by the realm. However, he knew better than that. People’s hearts were a fickle things. Honour, duty, too many people paid them only a lip service and upholded them only when it served their aims. He needed solid evidence that the Queen was unfaithful, and worse, had conspired to put a bastard on the Iron Throne, which was of course, treason with all it entailed. Without such evidence, and if something happened to Robert… such an outcome didn’t bare thinking about.

And now this… Stannis grit his teeth, an unfortunate habit caused by both his foolish brother and all the plot s he had to deal with within this cursed city. Wildfire below their feet, left to sweat and gain potency for over a decade;  i t was a miracle it hadn’t ignited by accident, one that almost made him believe in the Seven again, almost but not quite.

The King’s younger brother shook himself from his brooding to look at the tired faces of the gathered Small Council members. Of them all, only Varys looked fresh as usual, all the other wore pale and strained faces, often accompanied by hair matted with sweat and dust.

The Spider, a man Stannis had never trusted, one his foolish brother should have dismissed as soon as he took the throne. A man who should have known about the wildfire, but apparently didn’t. Was he merely incompetent, or was it an act of malice? Among the people on the Small Council, Varys was perhaps the only individual Stannis didn’t know the loyalties of.

Little Finger for example was a particularly treacherous weasel out for himself, first and foremost, who would take the gold of and support anyone who would offer him an advantage if he could get away with. Obviously not to be trusted, however the little bastard was sly enough that Stannis had been unable to find a shred of evidence that would get him thrown into a cell to be properly interrogated.

Jon Arryn – well, the dying Hand was loyal to his brother, saw him as his own flesh and blood, and was now slowly dying for it and was notable with his absence.

Then there was Renly, the Master of Law, who was for most intents and purposes imprisoned in King’s Landing. It pained Stannis to even look at his younger brother… How could such a good and nice boy turn into a buggerer of all things and then have the temerity to be caught in it? If it wasn’t for the fact that the dynasty couldn’t afford such a scandal, they might have shipped him to the Wall already. That and there was the fact that for the last few years Renly had proven himself useful figurehead that kept a Small Council seat in the family and away from either Lannister or Tyrell direct influence...

Stannis ground his teeth until he was sure he would feel his gums bleed from the pressure as he looked away from his younger brother and onto his false nephew. Durran “Baratheon”, the prospective Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. That was all Renly’s fault of course! After he got caught, Robert hurried to ensure that their younger brother wouldn’t be in a position to leave their ancestral seat go to a distantly related House. That by itself was a prudent thing to do, but instead of giving Stannis his birthright, Robert fostered it upon his supposed second son, and thus hande d the Stormlands to the Lannisters on a silver platter. That very slight was infuriating, and if it wasn’t for his acute sense of duty, Stannis wasn’t sure what he would have done.

As if the gods he no longer believed in were mocking him, Durran turned out to be a decent enough lad, and under different circumstances he might have made a good Lord Paramount or even a King… if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a bastard born of incest and a second son on top of it.

That said, Stannis fancied himself a just and honourable man. For what the lad did these last few days, he would do his damned best to shield him as much as possible from the fallout once the truth came to light. If it wasn’t for Durran, they would still stand on top of over fifty barrels of wildfire. S tannis saw them with his own eyes, he helped get them out of the citadel right beside Durran and the damned Kingslayer, who despite his one good deed had all but damned the realm to war already!

Said treasonous bastard stood behind his son along with Ser Oakheart, and the three of them were filthy, after just returning from ensuring the wildfire got safely out of the city. For a brief moment, Stannis looked at both of them, and shook his head. ‘What a fucking waste...’ He thought. Just two different choices – to tell the truth back in the day and not to fuck his bitch of a sister and the Kingslayer would have been hailed as one of the greatest Knights and heroes of all the Seven Kingdoms.

In the same vein, if Durran had been born Robert’s true-born son, he might have become a great one day, but now? At best it would be either exile or the Wall for the lad. Perhaps, there was a chance for him to find fortune in the Westerlands as a bastard knight, but that was merely a wishful thinking born of sentimentality and shock, Stannis was sure of it.

The Lord of Dragonstone unclenched his teeth and looked at Pycelle, who appeared more lively and strong that he had in years. Stannis was sure now, the old frail man routine was nothing more than a mask perfected in order to survive the reign of the Mad King. As far as the Grandmaester’s loyalties lied, well he was a Lannister creature through and through, one that was apparently even more dangerous than  he previously assumed.

Finally, Robert arrived, thankfully without fanfare, and took his seat at the head of the table. His dark clothes were a mess as well, though obviously for a different reason. Stannis grit his teeth again not to scoff at his brother. Their relationship was strained enough already and given the King’s Affair, the last thing he could afford right then and there was to antagonize Robert even more. Still, to get drunk and go be with whatever wench caught his fancy while the whole capital was in peril… it was beyond the pale, as much as it was obvious what the King had been up to.

The only bright spot in the surrounding darkness was that Stannis was able to sent his family to the relative safety of Dragonstone under the capable watch of Davos Seaworth.

“Report.” At least Robert didn’t waste any more time.

“The Red Keep is reasonably secure. We haven’t found out any more caches, though we have men still searching.” Durran spoke first in a weary voice that betrayed how tired he was. He looked at Robert with a bloodshot eyes, yet offered a small smile. “So far we’ve found ten confirmed caches and six of them were reasonably cleared up – those near or under the gates and below our feet. As we speak, the four others are being either guarded or carefully removed by fresh men.” Needless to say, no one was crazy or desperate enough to risk tired men carrying wildfire.

“Good, good.” Robert rumbled and smiled proudly at Durran. “I’m proud of you son, you know that?”

At those words, Durran lowered his head in humility. At that sight, Stannis’ teeth were about to crack. Why was it that good men had to suffer for the sins of bastards like the Kingslayer and his treacherous sister?

If he didn’t know better, Stannis would have sworn that despite his features, Durran was a Baratheon by the way he had been acting since the crisis began. He heard of the argument the lad had with Robert, how he refused to leave the city with his siblings and mother to be safe, how he practically demanded to be one of the people unfucking this mess as people whispered all throughout the Red Keep, all because it was his duty as a Prince and because as he had said, as a second son he had was kind of expendable.

Not to mention the tales of the cold fury Durran wore as a cloak when he confronted his real father about the events surrounding the Mad King’s death. By all accounts, at that moment the lad had been worth of House Baratheon’s words,  _Our’s the Fury_ . But that was surely impossible! What were the odds that Durran was Robert’s son and really Stannis’ nephew when he looked at a much younger copy of the Kingslayer?

“I merely did my duty.” Durran muttered humbly, calmly, and those words, the earnest way he said them, it was like a blade plunged and then twisted in Stannis’ gut. Damn Jamie Lannister to the deepest of the Seven Hells for causing this!

= **Petyr Baelish=**

He didn’t have to pretend, the bowel loosening terror he felt was very much real and the ghostly pale color of his skin was proof enough. To think that everything Petyr had been working towards for years could have ended in a blast of scorching green fire and he knew nothing about it… Fuck the Targaryens, the Lannisters and all those petty, stupid Lords, who gleefully lorded their status over him! As if most of them had ever done anything to deserve their status and wealth!

Baelish fought to reign in his fear so he could think clearly.

Thankfully, for once those so high and mighty Lords weren’t completely incompetent… or well, they were. It took a bastard born from incest to see the threat and deliver them all from it, and that was a thought that made Petyr look at the young prince with a smile. Chaos was a ladder, and today offered new opportunities. There was always the possibility that some of his plans failed, in which case perhaps it would be good idea to get closer to the second Prince and he would have a good excuse for it. Durran did save his life after all and so did deserve a reward, even if in the future he might have to stick a knife in the lad’s back. Once the current furor was over Petyr decided it might be for the best to either bait the young prince in to his best brothel so his girls could show their appreciation for saving them all or, perhaps smuggle some of his best girls into the lad’s quarters… He doubted that the boy’s guards would be an obstacle. And if he could make it a regular event, who knew what the Prince might let slip…

_Chaos was truly a ladder and even peril could open new routes for advancement_ , Petyr altered his own mantra in his head.

** = Sith= **

**I** **nterlude:** **B** **loodraven**

_Ravens soared to all corners of the realm upon black fluttering wings, bringing news. King’s Landing shook like a sundered anthill, people surging this and that way, in rising panic and it was a miracle that only Fleabottom saw any real riots. The tapestry of fate shifted, slowly and surely becoming unwoven._

_Bloodraven blinked in confusion, shifted in a futile attempt to find some comfort among the roots binding him, the same roots that were now part of his being, sustained him and allowed him to see both the past and the future._

_This was wrong. The future was slowly but surely unravelling and the present was yet to be written. Bloodraven desperately searched for the reason why, even as the few remaining children stirred and joined him in his efforts. While they were unable to find any single event to explain what was happening, they did notice the ripples from the events in King’s Landing._

_News arrived upon the wings of ravens, further discrediting the Targaryen cause in the eyes of anyone that wasn’t already a staunch loyalist of the deposed dynasty. Even among the latter, people had to wonder, if Viserys Targaryen, the Beggar Prince, would be cast in his father’s mould._

_The news spread like a spider webs; as ravens touched upon the capitals of the various realms, more and more of their feathery brethren soared to bring news to the most important bannermen of each region, even as travellers leaving King’s Landing did the same, no matter if they travelled by foo_ _t_ _, horse, coach or boat and soon the whole of Westeros eagerly discussed the happenings of the capital._

_In Dragonstone, Selyse Baratheon clung to her new faith, watched the flames and eagerly listened to every word uttered by a Red Priestess._

_In Riverrun, the sick and slowly dying Hoster Tully nearly fell stricken down by shock. He knew Aerys had been beyond mad at the end, everyone knew it but this… Well, it was surely good news in the long run. So much for any mad dreams of Dragon restoration more than a few of his own unruly bannermen had._

_In Storm’s End, the news arrived without much fanfare, until the word spread that the upcoming Lord of the Stormlands was the one to uncover the dastardly plot, thus earning much acclaim to Prince Durran Baratheon. When the second message arrived hours later, requesting that strong and loyal men be dispatched to the Capital, there was no shortage of volunteers to serve their Prince and soon a troop of three hundred Knights and Men-at-Arms raced towards the Kingswood and the capital beyond it._

_At Casterly Rock an Old Lion bared his claws and quietly fumed at the foolhardiness of its oldest offspring. Once again, Tywin Lannister found himself plotting on how to best protect and uphold the power and prestige of his family’s name, this time from sinister rumours. Yet, at the same time, the Old Lion smiled a rare, small smile. One of his Grandsons would profit from the debacle, the same one he wanted to inherit his seat, now more than ever, because Jamie just proved that he could not be trusted with something as important as ruling the Westerlands._

_In the Eyire, all the news did was reassure everyone who heard it that their Lord and Master, Jon Arryn had been right to rise in rebellion to protect his two wards who he saw as his own son_ _s_ _._

_In Sunspear, the news caused little surprise. The Martell brothers knew better than most how unhinged Aerys had become at the end. Still, it hurt to know that even if the Lannisters hadn’t murdered their kin, Elia and her children might have perished because of the King’s insanity anyway. Nevertheless, that revelation did little to sate the lust for vengeance burning within Oberyn’s hear_ _t_ _and Doran continued to keep his cards close to his chest._

_In the far north, at Winterfell, a Quiet Wolf silently read the message, put it on his cluttered desk, closed his eyes and cursed the mad Targaryens. His mind went back to that fateful day at the capital, when he saw Jamie Lannister sitting on the Iron Throne, bloody sword in hand, and the body of his King laying nearby in a pool of blood. Perhaps he had misjudged the Young Lion then…_

_The ripples continued to spread and soon, the future fully unravelled, robbing Bloodraven from one of his most useful tools. He could naught but wait for the tapestry to be woven anew and pray that he would have enough time to alter it for the better if needed. He sighed quietly and dove into the past, searching for that first stone cast into the time-stream. He needed to know what changed and if it could happen again._

**=Sith=**

**Part 5**

**=Durran=**

** Durran’s Chambers **

**King’s Landing**

I sat on the terrace of my chambers and looked at the city below. It was evening now, and even with hundreds of lanterns and torches lighting up King’s Landing, it the whole city was unbelievably dark; a very far cry from anything even approaching a proper level of development, yet this was what I was stuck with. I sighed and took a sip of my watered down wine. The last week, it was a whirlwind of activity and while it all but wiped me out, it was all worth it, I hoped. There were thousands if not tens of thousands of people praising my name, and that was something I could use.

Prince Durran, the Savior of King’s Landing, it had a nice ring to it, if I said so myself.

Instinctively, my hand went down to the dragon-bone hilt of my new dagger and the mere contact made me relax. It should have been impossible, I knew it was impossible yet, it was. I closed my eyes, remembering how I got my hands on this “trinket”.

Chaos could create great opportunities, perhaps it was to make up for all the strife it caused. The past week, while we tore the city apart searching for more caches of wildfire, the Red Keep remained as lightly guarded as it had ever been. That in turn offered me the priceless opportunity to raid the certain usually very well protected rooms, nick a lot of valuable jewellery and most importantly, my new pride and joy – an ancient dagger made of Valyrian steel, with a hilt made of intricately and painstakingly carved dragon-bone. It was a fine, deadly weapon in its own right, but that wasn’t why I kept it and would rather die than lose if.

My fingers gently caressed the hilt as I finally relaxed for the first time since awakening in this world. Currently it was just a whisper at the back of my head, too faint to be of much practical use, yet it was there. For better or worse, the dagger acted as a conduit to the Force and finally I felt myself complete. Reacquiring myself with my power, even a drop of it, was like awakening anew, seeing the world in colour for the first time, being able to hear sounds after loosing your hearing for eternity… I couldn’t put it properly into words, it was like the world hadn’t been quite real before, without the touch of the Force linking us.

Of course, it wasn’t all good. The existence of this dagger, what it represented… What was the connection between Valyrian steel and the Force? Between magic and the Force? Were they different, or merely a different expression of the same power? Did I find myself reborn in a different universe altogether, or was this a forgotten world suck in the depths of the Unknown Regions? If so, when was this? Would I awake one day to see the skies darkened by ships of invaders or slavers?

I certainly hoped not, because if something like that happened, Westeros, no the whole of Planetos, were utterly fucked. There was no way to uplift this world to face such a threat, not in decades, perhaps not in centuries if I somehow found a way to live that long. What did that leave me?

Well, the answer was simple – I knew of some threats that were to come, I had a lovely sister to keep safe at all costs, along with an innocent younger brother… and in order to face those challenges I needed more power, real power. I needed the crown.

The events of the past week were a good start, one that highlighted some of the areas I currently lacked the most. The good news was that I had an incredibly good standing at the moment, one that I wasn’t going to squander. Because of that, I already had projects planned to get underway over the coming weeks, though their real impact would be in the long run. First, I had secured the funds to open and finance multiple orphanages in the city, and if handled right, they would be chugging out people loyal to me and my cause in the long run, helping keep my name in the forefront of commoners’ minds in the meantime as someone who actually gave a fuck for them as well. That was going to surely help, but wasn’t enough.

Well, my prototype printing press was already ready and I had a few enthusiasts busy creating a copy of the Seven Pointed Star, which I would be presenting to the Faith soon, along with an offer that they would hopefully would be unable to refuse. Further, I had another group of folks preparing the first edition of the first propaganda newspaper to grace this world, though in practice it was going to be a simple one page bulletin spreading news with the right spin for the time being, which reminded me – I would need criers to proclaim said news for those who couldn’t read…

I only hoped that there would be loyal people I could trust among the Stormlander contingent coming towards the city. I needed those people and those who they represented bound to me, which was another can of worms to deal with, despite the rather good progress Durran had made before I appeared on the horizon.

And that brought me back to the primary issue. I needed Joff very, very dead in a way that couldn’t be connected to me. Further, I needed a way to both prove myself more Baratheon than the real thing and a major distraction I could use to uncover some of the enemies I knew I had due to my lineage and position. How to play that? Joff had to die, preferably before we got back to the capital. With Jon Arryn dead, we would be leaving North sooner rather than later, as soon as we were reasonably sure that there was no wildfire left in the city, a task that would take few more weeks at worst, perhaps a month or longer at best. Meanwhile, we were without a Hand and father was trying to govern when not too much into his cups, in which case it was up to the Small Council to pick up the slack, a Council that I was now a provisional member of, even if I didn’t have an official area of responsibility.

My brother had to die and I needed for people to look at shadows, away from my  real  parentage. I needed an enemy that wasn’t so close to home, a grand distraction.

I stared at the shadows covering King’s Landing and smiled. Jon Arryn was dead, murdered. Joffrey Baratheon was going to die as soon as I could arrange it, another murder aimed at weakening the dynasty or so it would seem. One time is an accident, two times is coincidence, three times is enemy action – if you aren’t properly paranoid anyway.

So, what would be the third piece of proof I would need when it would be time to present my case in front of Robert and his new Hand? That was certainly something to think about. But let’s not forget about the threat across the sea. I did recall that Daenerys Targaryen was supposed to sooner or later hatch dragons and that was going to be a big pain in the ass to deal with. I either needed her neutralized for good, on my side, which was highly unlikely, or a way to deal with heavy armed and armoured close air support with medieval technology. That third option was to be avoided at all costs. Perhaps a Faceless Man? I needed to research them better anyway and figure out how to keep myself safe from them at the very least, not to mention find out how much they would want to take out a Dragon Queen…

Well, so much for my improved mood… I continued to sip my wine and plot in the shadows for the rest of the evening,  while my mind kept going back to the night I got my soul back...

** = Sith= **

**=Melisandre=**

**Dragonstone**

**Blackwater Bay**

Melisandre was in her chambers, within the castle that once was the ancestral seat of the Targaryens. It was a fitting in a way, that the Warrior of the Light now called this place home, even if he himself didn't yet know the destiny laid in front of him by their god.

She smiled and knelt before a huge brazier that dominated the center of her room. The heat of the blazing logs warmed Melisandre's heart as she looked hungrily at the dancing flames.

The fire crackled, whispering a warning. A new shadow was rising.

Melisandre leaned forward. For a moment, her eyes became the color of the fire she loved so much. And she saw it.

It was a dark night upon King's Landing. Clouds obscured the light of the stars and moons, casting the Red Citadel in darkness.

Her viewpoint shifted. She was warping from one torch towards another, spying from the flames. There was a shadow stalking through the empty halls of the Citadel. A lithe, cloaked figure. Perhaps a woman or a youth in his teens. Melisandre's eyes narrowed at the figure.

He was touched by the darkness itself. She could make no distinguishing features through the flames she was spying from.

The figure reached a sturdy metal door guarded by a pair of Baratheon banner-men. Words were exchanged and they opened the way. The figure stalked in, paying no attention when the doors closed behind them.

**=Sith=**

**=Durran=**

**The Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

A few days after the so called Wildfire Plot began, I found myself twisting and turning in my bed unable to sleep. So I went for a walk after grabbing the first set of clothes I could get my hands on and strapping my sword belt. Just in case.

I walked through the halls of the castle, meeting only the odd servant or a guard, who merely gave me a bow and went their own way. Almost everyone in the know was too busy either trying to quietly leave the city, searching for more wildfire caches to taking a few hours of restless sleep before rejoining the search, just as I was supposed to be doing. I felt restless, unable to stay in one place for long. So I walked, where my legs led me, while pondering what the hell was I doing in this fucked up world. If it wasn't for the knowledge that eventually there will be undead invasion and that there might not be anyone to stop it from killing everyone, because this was fucking Westeros of all places, I would already be in Essos. It wasn't like I much cared for those people with the possible exception of the few folks that I was fond of. At best.

Getting out of this mess would have been the smart thing to do. Hell, I had contingency plans leaning in that direction at any rate.

A bitter laugh tore its way out of my lips. As if I could run away. There was enough left from Durran within me that duty to the realm bound me, though lightly. The real chains were simple – made of love towards my little sister. Gods, I loved Myrcella and I would see the world burn before anyone could lay a hand on her! To keep her safe and happy, I needed to be in Westeros. I needed to claim the Iron Throne.

Little did I know at the time that my life was going to get much more complicated and interesting.

I ended in front of a pair of thick wooden doors which were reinforced with steel. Two of my father's sworn men guarde d the place, clad in mail armor and proudly carrying tabards with the Baratheon sigil. For a moment I wondered where the hell I ended up until my mind dredged up the relevant information. There was a weapon's collection behind those doors. Daggers mostly, if my memory was correct. Valyrian steel ones among them.

“Hi!” I smiled brightly at the banner-men. “I would like to see the collection you are guarding so diligently.”

“Your Highness.” The one to the right spoke and gave me a half bow, before he nodded to his buddy and they opened the doors.

There were some benefits to bei ng a Prince, especially one who was currently being hailed as the Saviour of King’s Landing by those in the know… and Marrek was making sure that sooner or later, everyone would know.

There were no awkward questions by the guardsmen, no attempt to keep me away. Just a polite bow and the soldiers stepped away after opening the door.

I glanced in side a nd saw that the room was dark. So I retrieved a torch from the  nearby  wall and went in, the men closing the doors behind me and leaving me in peac e, s omething for which I was grateful.

There were two rows of tables along the walls, with cases upon them. Each one had a glass lid, making so the contents could be seen. I went to the closest one and glanced in. There was a beautifully crafted hunting knife with a dragon-bone hilt, carved in the form of raven's head. My eyes went to the blade itself, which had the distinctive rippled pattern of a Valyrian steel.

I shook my head, the restless feeling was back in full force, and I looked around. It was as if someone was watching me, while remaining unseen. It was just a feeling, my other senses could find no trace of other occupants in the chamber. In the good old days before I ended here, I could rely on either the Force or advanced tech to check if my senses were lying to me.

No such luck nowadays.

I shrugged and strode up the row of tables. The feeling became even stronger, while subtly shifting. It was… anticipation. I frowned and looked around. It was like almost feeling a whisper, not quite hearing it, one quiet enough to make you wonder if the sound was there in the first place.

The restlessness returned, prompting me to continue with my walk. There was something just not right.

I shrugged, disregarding my nervousness. Probably the guards were talking about my visit and the door was muffling almost every sound their voices were making.

At the wall across the entrance, there was only a single table with one big case on it. I walked next to it and stared. There were four blades laid at forty five degree angle. Valyrian steel and dragon-bone again. Gorgeous and tasteful craftsmanship,  yet as beautiful as those blades were, they weren’t mere show pieces.

Right then I had eyes for only one thing. The  blade of the hunting knife to the right. It had four symbols engraved at the back of its blade, going from the hilt up it's length. The rest of the weapon was a mere afterthought, the pommel shaped like a roaring dragon head, and the hilt guard  that  ended with stylized talons  clutching a metal ball  were of very little interest right then and there.

All I knew was the symbols. I knew them very well. And they had no place being on this world.

My right hand moved on its own volition. My fist smashed the tempered glass, which gave me a long cut. That stopped me for a moment as I stared at the wound. A drop of blood fell on the blade, over the symbol closest to the hilt. It sizzled and t he steel  _absorbed_ it.

Before my mind could kick back into gear, my right hand had reached within the shattered case and my fingers closed around the dragon-bone hilt.

I drew a rasping breath and smiled. I could barely make an unintelligible whisper at the back on my mind. A cool wind blew through my whole being. Suddenly the world around me was a bit sharper, it had more color, it felt more alive.

The feeling that someone was watching me grew exponentially. I frowned and looked around. There was no one in the chamber, save for myself, the weapon collection and the flickering shadows thrown by the torch in my left hand. I glanced at the flames, which were flickering wildly. If I didn't know better, I would have though that they actually recoiled from me before settling down in a slow burn.

Whatever. I returned my attention to the naked blade in my bleeding hand, my grip tightening around it. Then I carefully placed it back on the velvet that had been its home for countless years.

It was hard, letting go of it. The moment it was out of my grasp, I felt  _less_ . The world was back to the dull sheen it had ever since I awoke in Westeros for the first time. The reality itself looked, felt somewhat diminished. The feather caress of the Force I just felt was gone as if it was never there.

My hand struck like a lighting, my fingers instinctively closing around the hilt of the knife and I breathed out a sigh of relief. It was back. So very weak and distant, yet it was back.

At that moment, everything was right in the world. No matter what my “accidental” discovery heralded for everyone on the face of Planetos.

**=Sith=**

A few days later, after spending endless hours interviewing the contingent from Storm’s End and gaining hopefully a small but loyal to a fault retinue, I found myself riding into the Temple Quarter of the city. If I had any illusions about the leaders of the Faith actually following its tenets, well my meeting with the Chief Septon TM and his closest cronies, put them to rest.

His eminence wore ridiculously expensive garish robes that were probably meant to make everyone recognize his esteemed rank. In my humble opinion, the obese man looked like a bloody clown wearing a tent, an image I would be unable to get out of my head anytime soon. He wore more makeup than Varys on a bad day too, which was saying something.

That said, all those point made said Septon actually useful, not to mention, much less dangerous than a true believer. That last thing I needed was fanatic in his post. If that happened, I would be doing my best to ensure that the poor man would become a martyr posthaste, one murdered by my enemies of course.

I sat in a cushioned chair, sipped sweet Dornish Red and spoke sweet nothings about the richly decorated office within the depths of the Great Sept. The furniture and art on display alone if sold to the right buyers could feed a large portion of the capital for months, perhaps years, which was something I made a note of for a time it might become relevant.

Meanwhile, the High Septon was carefully turning the pages of the book and almost reverently tracing the printed letters with an index finger. Say what you will about the greedy bastard, he could play the mummer with the best of them.

“This is marvellous, Your Highness!” The High Septon beamed at me. “All the letters are the same, no little smudges or mistakes! How long did it take to make this?”

“A few days. This is the first finished product of my prototype press. When my operation is fully established, we’ll be able to produce multiple copies per day.” I explained. “The main bottleneck will be the paper.”

Parchment and paper both were damn expensive to produce. While I was aware of a method to create the later that might be viable, after being stuck on a low tech planet for six months courtesy to an Old Republic battle group, figuring out a way to make said method practical and economically viable was going to be pain in the ass if at all possible, not to mention expensive. Still, I did commission some of the alchemists to look into. They were now my creatures after making sure that all the Wisdoms knew very well that I was the only reason they weren’t torn apart by vengeful crowds in the immediate aftermath of the Wildfire Plot. Even now, I had two dozen Men-at-Arms keeping their Guild in one piece.

“I see...” The High Septon mussed and rubbed his double chin in deep thought. "I see." His expression dropped. The Septon took a deep breath, steeling himself. "If I may be so bold to ask, your Highness, have you considered the ramifications of your invention?" He asked with a measured tone.

Oh, I did indeed! My smile widened.

“Yes, it will leave all your scribes without work within the next few months. Unless we reach an arrangement. It so happens that I have one in mind, which will be immensely profitable for the Church.” I didn't need to add that even more dragons would flow into my coffers.

“Ah. Do tell!” He visibly calmed down.

It was a good thing that the current High Septon was a shrewd, wordy man. The fact that he had expensive tastes didn't hurt at all either.

“I plan to greatly expand my printing operation. For that I'll need skilled, literate people. A lot of them too. And you just happen to have a lot of Scribes who would find themselves out of work, soon.” I waved at the book in his hands. “Besides, who would be better to spread the Seven's word, than men of faith? A big portion of my publishing will be centred on Sermons and holly scripture.”

“I'm sure that the Seven will wholeheartedly approve!” he gave me a conspiratorial smile.

“I hope so too, your Holiness!” My smile didn’t waver. “My humble goal is that one day, every family; from the highest Lord to the lowliest commoner has a printed copy of the Seven Pointed Star at home!” I declared eagerly, trying to sound as pious as I could possibly could.


	3. Chapter 3: Wicked tidings in the North

**AN: This chapter was betaed by Sbiper on the alternative history forums. Thank you very much!**

  
  


**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter** **3:** **Wicked tidings in the North**

**=Sith=**

**Part 1**

**=Eddard Stark=**

** **Lord's quarters  
Winterfell** **

Thick logs burned within the large fireplace, warming up the spacious chamber. Eddard Stark sat on the corner of his large bed holding a parchment in one hand, while rubbing the back of his wife with the other.

“They might get here tomorrow, perhaps in a few days, no longer...”

Ned drew comfort from the soft voice of his wife. He looked up from the sheet of parchment and smiled at Catelyn, a gesture she didn’t return. Eddard grimaced when he saw the worried frown etched on her face, which was still stunning even after all those years. Truly, he was a fortunate man to have such a loving and usually understanding wife. Not to mention gorgeous, but that went without saying.

“You still haven’t given me an answer, Ned.” Cat shifted closer and looked him in the eyes.

The Warden of the North looked sadly at his wife. No matter how much he wanted to agree with her, he simply couldn’t give her what she wanted… Oh, once Robert arrived, he was going to do his best to persuade his old friend that he should search for a Hand elsewhere. Still, he wasn’t hopeful. Besides, Robert was his friend, his King. Honour and duty demanded that Ned aided him to the best of his ability.

“Robert needs my help...” Ned trailed off at the glare Cat sent him in response. Gods, she was beautiful when angry, even though he preferred her with a smile on her face.

“What about us, My Lord Husband? Our children? The North?” Cat demanded.

Ned’s expression cracked into a fond smile. He loved the moments when his wife failed to play the role of the proper, obedient Southern Lady.

“I’ll speak with Robert when he gets here. I’ll do my best to persuade him to seek a hand elsewhere, that much I promise you, Cat.” He vowed. “However, we both know that if he has set his mind on me as his choice, there might not be much that either of us could do to dissuade him. He is the King...” Ned trailed off. “One can’t really decline such an ‘honour’...” Even if there were precious few who knew the meaning of the word in King’s Landing. That in fact was another reason why he should accept, because the thought of leaving Robert and his family alone in that snake-pit simply grated.

“There is something else, isn’t it?” Cat asked.

Ned nodded and looked at the parchment in his hand. He didn’t know if Robert had really made up his mind while on the road, or perhaps this raven had been sent late due to all the upheavals that happened in the capital… Eddard winced as his mind went back to the now infamous Wildfire Plot and how close they all c ame to burning alive, like father… Goods be good, they all survived it and it was confirmed that there were no more caches of wildfire stashed below the city. Eddard shook himself from those grim thoughts and offered the parchment to Cat so she could examine its contents.

“Well, this is unexpected.” His Lady Wife muttered.

“Robert has two sons who are ready to be married off.” Ned deadpanned. “One is the Crown Prince and the other is the one the whole realm is speaking about.”

“Everyone in the realm who has a daughter of a suitable station will be pursuing the Crown Prince; we both know that, Ned.” Cat finally smiled. “Everyone else will be pinning after Prince Durran. It’s not every day that a lad of such a tender age becomes so famous.”

“What do you think about the proposal?” Ned asked. When Southern politics were concerned, Cat’s advice was often priceless.

“On the face of it, it’s great, Ned. Sansa is going to be either a Queen or the Lady of Storm’s End. Further, such a marriage would do something about the bad blood between us and the Lannisters...”

“My daughter and a grandson of Tywin Lannister...” Ned grumbled. He knew that such a match could do wonders both for his House and the North, politically speaking. Despite that, he couldn’t help it but feel conflicted.

Joffrey and Durran Baratheon, the Crowned Prince and the future Lord of Storm's End. If there was any truth to the rumours, one was a decent sort, for a southern noble child anyway. A hero already too. The other, well there wasn't much told about Joffrey beyond what one would expect. If Ned was a different, less honourable man, that in itself would have been an alarm bell. In the end, playing the Game and seeing multiple meanings to everything men said and did, it simply wasn't in his nature. For better or worse, Eddard Stark was an honourable man. Probably the most honourable in the all Seven Kingdoms.

It was too bad that Honour alone wasn't good enough to protect one and his family in Westeros...

**=Sith=**

**=Marrek=**

**Royal column**

**Near Winterfell**

The young knight patted the neck of his horse in sympathy. The faithful beast was a bit disgruntled at having to cart his armoured bulk through most of the realm and wasn’t particularly shy at showing its displeasure. Moving at the ponderous speed set up by the House on Wheels favoured by the Queen didn’t help matters, especially when the damned thing broke a wheel at predictable intervals and the constant delays further frayed everyone’s tempers.

It didn’t exactly help that despite still being summer, here in the North was already quite cold.

The only saving grace of the whole mess was that they were almost at their destination, but that naturally meant that they still had to look up to the return trip, which was going to be an exercise in stoicism.

Marrek looked to the right, where the man to whom he had sworn his life and future rode a midnight black warhorse. He was proud to see the youngster coming out of his shell and blossoming into the Prince he was always meant to be. The way he took charge and proved himself during the Wildfire Plot, the fact that it was Durran who connected the dots and discovered it in the first place, those events made the Sworn Shield more certain than ever that he had made the right choice.

Where before the Prince had been content with his lot in life, which granted, didn’t get much better in this world, now he was ready and eager to play the Great Game. He was hungry to prove himself further and leave his mark upon the realm. Something stroked the flames of ambition within his Lord’s belly, and whoever, whatever it was, Marrek would be forever grateful for the change they caused.

After all, he himself was an ambitious man. As a bastard born to a petty Stormlord, Marrek saw a pretty bleak future for himself, though still much better than that of a smallfolk and for that he loved his parents. Once upon a time, the best he could strive for was to be a somewhat decent Man-at-Arms, that was the greatest ambition he could realistically strive to achieve. A bastard like himself, what else was there for such as him?

Nevertheless, a few years ago, everything changed. He had been chosen to be one of the common soldiers sent to accompany the young prince on bandit hunting during Durran’s first stay at Storm’s End as the castle’s prospective Lord. There used to be a particularly vicious group of bandits plaguing the Stormlands at the time, something that didn’t stand well with the King or his younger brother Renly who was supposed to act as regent for the Prince, even though he had been stuck at King’s Landing as the Master of Laws.

Long story short, they managed to track the bandits to a secluded valley they had made their camp in and slaughtered them to a man after a short but vicious engagement. Marrek would forever remember that day. He distinguished himself, and more importantly, he not only found out he had a taste for combat and the life of a warrior, but his Prince saw something in him an d had his Knightguard, the redoubtable Ser Orys Knight him on the spot. It was on that day, Marrek was allowed to dream again, to believe that he might be something, someone more than just one more despised bastard.

This was a new beginning for him and the young Knight threw himself into his training with unquenchable fire burning within his chest. Marrek dared believe that he might be destined for greatness after all, and it was his Prince who gave him the chance to seize it.

It was a year after he became a Knight, when Durran announced a tourney at Storm's End, which had a single purpose – to select a personal Knight for the Prince. It was on Durran’s Nameday, that Marrek fought with ambition fueled vigor, clashed with the cream of Stormlander martial power and emerged victorious. On that day, he knelt in front of his Prince for a second time and became the Sworn Shield of Durran Baratheon.

Marrek found himself at the top of the world, and for a second time, his Prince offered him the precious opportunity and the boldness to dream again. He knew it was because the lad saw something within him… and now, his Liege Lord seemed to be aiming even higher. Marrek grinned under his helmet. If he was not mistaken, his Prince aimed at the crown, and he couldn’t help but approve. Who better to wear it next than the young man who saved the capital just a few short weeks ago? That craven sadist Joffrey? He shuddered at that thought. If Joffrey got the crown, then they would all suffer, while another mad king planted his arse on the Iron Throne.

Marrek met his Liege’s eyes and offered a small nod, which his Prince returned.

The Knight rather liked this new face Durran unveiled as of late. While he had been more than content to serve the Lord of Storm’s End and the Warden of the Stormlands, Marrek couldn’t help it but approve. It was in his nature to be ambitious and now, alongside his Prince he was free to his heart’s content to indulge in said vice. While he would never betray the man to whom he owed everything he was, Marrek was glad and utterly happy that Durran had set his gaze on the ultimate prize and would have him by his side to the end.

His Prince would sit upon the Iron Throne, no matter how much blood had to be spilled to see it done, that was Marrek’s solemn vow.

**=Sith=**

**=Jon Snow=**

**Courtyard**

**Winterfell**

Jon stood behind his father and siblings, alongside Theon Greyjoy, while they were waiting for the Kings procession. He had to suppress a bout of laughter, when little Arya made herself present, with a helmet on her head of all things. The little spitfire barely made it too, appearing moments before the King's men. Nevertheless, their father had just enough time to get the helmet away from Arya and shoo her to her place, beside her Lady Mother and sister, which she took moments before the first riders entered the courtyard.

The procession was led by the Knight Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy, followed by the two elder Princes of the realm. Right beyond the royals rode two men, clad head to toe with armour. One wore jet black mail, adorned with a helmet shaped like the head of a snarling dog. The other, who was a bit shorter but broader, was clad in scale-mail covered by tabard in the Baratheon colours.

The Princes themselves couldn't be more different either. While the one who rode in first, who must have been Joffrey, looked like a lad of no more than fifteen, wore himself like a typical Southern noble – re-splendid in his red leather clothes and crimson cloak. His younger brother on the other hand, arrived clad in armour, which was similar to that worn by the Kingsguard, though dark gray in colour. He had a cloak too, made by darker than black furs and leather.

It was clear who of the two princes cut the more memorable and menacing figure, which was fitting. Say what you will about Joffrey, the Crown Prince had no deeds to his name. His younger brother on the other hand was rumoured to be a blooded warrior already and the whole realm knew him as the Savoir of King’s Landing.

Besides, it wasn't the younger Prince the one who was smirking at his sister Sansa, who was in turn undoubtedly making doe eyes at the ponce in Lannister crimson. Jon loved that girl, even if she had her head in the clouds, living in some kind of make believe world. The reality was far different than what the stories told them, even a bastard as himself knew that. Especially a bastard like him.

Jon only hoped that Sansa would learn that hard truth before it was too late.

After the first riders, a bunch of poor beasties dragged in a great carriage. The six horses looked grateful that the journey from King's Landing was finally over and then the time for observation and musings was over; they all had to kneel for the King's arrival.

Besides, soon enough it would be time for Jon to make himself scarce in order to avoid Lady Catelyn's ire.

The first thing the Bastard of Winterfell noticed about the King, was that Robert was big. As in fat beyond belief, there were no two ways around it. When the King came up to his father, his Grace’s first words struck Jon speechless with fear and outrage. Yet, somehow, things turned out all right when the two old friends stared at each other for a long moment and began laughing like maniacs.

In the end, there was an accident anyway. It just wasn't between his Lord Father and the King. Instead, it happened between Robert and his Queen. The King wanted to visit the crypts, where the woman he loved and started a war over, was laid to rest. That understandably didn't make the Queen particularly happy…

Jon winced at that display. Suddenly going to the Wall sounded better in his mind. It was nothing in comparison to dealing with such stuff for a living. On the other hand, if he somehow ended up married, now he knew both what example to follow and some things to avoid at all costs...

Of course, Arya couldn't keep herself out of trouble. She just had to get herself into a mess too! Just after f ather led the King to the crypts, she had to open her mouth.

“Where is the Imp?” Jon’s little sister asked just loud enough for the Queen to hear alongside her younger son. Prince Durran the Saviour had dismounted and came to be at his mother’s side, while everyone had their attention focused on the spectacle that was their King.

The Queen frowned and looked around, before her son whispered something. She shrugged her shoulders, smiled and returned her attention to the Starks. The Prince made his way to his brother told him something as well and went to talk with one of the Kingsguard, who had an uncanny resemblance with the Queen herself.

Jon stared at the man. So that was the infamous Jamie Lannister, the Kingslayer, the man who saved Kings Landing as well, only to imperil it for years to come with his silence. The Golden Fool as some called him, while others appreciated the fact that despite everything, Ser Jamie had attempted to protect the last shred of honour of the old dynasty at the price of his own.

Honestly, Jon wasn’t sure what to think about the man anymore.

**=Sith=**

  
  


**Part 2**

  
  


**=Durran=**

  
  


** W inter Town **

**Winterfell**

Th is might be a new record for my uncle , though I somehow doubted it. We just arrived at Winterfell, and before we could even greet our hosts, Tyrion had already made himself scarce. His absence almost caused a nice, juicy scene, which would have been a god send for the paparazzi if their kind was invented in this world. Who knew, there were a few benefits to being stuck in a hellhole, which was the poster child for everything that was wrong during the  memetic Dark Ages and then some.  Still, while I could sympathize with uncle Tyrion about making himself scarce given the pleasant company my mother and older brother were at the best of times, this wasn’t the time and place for such shenanigans. People did notice and there would be rumours, just not as bad as it could have been on another world.

Nevertheless,  just a  few minutes after arriving  in Winterfell , I already had to do some damage control. A few "wise" words to Cersei and she put a fake smile on her face, before turning towards our hosts and greeting them properly. Meanwhile I had to quietly growl to Joff to stop being a royal prick and act like the Crown Prince he was supposed to be. At least that went well. After more than a month of mother working on his attitude, the sadistic little bastard actually listened to my advice, smirked and went to greet the locals.

I knew that if he ever ascended to the Throne I would be paying for the way I was doing my best to keep him muzzled in public, though that wasn't particularly big concern for me. Unless everything went straight to the Seven Hells, my dear, undeparted brother wouldn't be sitting his royal posterior on any Thrones.

However now wasn't the time for such a pleasant thoughts. I had a bunch of Starks to greet before heading with my "uncle" Jamie to retrieve Tyrion from the local brothel.

Ah, the Starks. Eddard Stark sure looked like a carbon copy of a rather famous actor. If said actor was half-giant or something similar. He was nearly two meters tall and looked quite impressive in his Lordly get up. I would be greeting him some time later. The reason for that was made obvious to anyone watching. Before anyone but Robert or my mother could greet him, the King had Lord Stark showing him the way towards the Crypts.

As you can imagine, this stunt pulled by our beloved King was nothing less than a public snub at the Queen, even if it wasn't planned as such. Lady Stark had a painted expression on her face after seeing how a simple meet and greet almost became complete train wreck in the span of moments. However, that didn't stop her from smiling and greeting us properly. The good news was that, despite Robert's faux pass, with both Cersei and Joff behaving, any further embarrassments were avoided. At least until we  went  see what my uncle was up to...

"Lady Stark," I smiled at our hostess, giving her a proper bow and kisse d her hand.

"My Prince," she curtsied.

It went that way with the rest of the family. All very proper and boring. The only thing I really learned was that Sansa Stark was an airhead who was apparently in love with the false image of Joff and the possibility of being a Queen. It was amusing to see that Westeros had  already  discovered the concept of fan-girls...

I shook my head, clearing it from the thoughts of our reception by our hosts and returned to the present. I was walking through the town surrounding Winterfell with Jamie and Marrek, in search of Tyrion. To our surprise he wasn't in the first brothel we hit,  w hich was amusing by itself. I had been left with the strange impression that there had been only one whore house in the whole  of Winterfell, but that was apparently wrong. Who knew, the Northmen knew how to party!

Jaime glanced at me with a frown which was almost a pout.

"It's like you don't trust me, to take care of your uncle Tyrion..." he muttered aloud.

I smirked.

"What gave you that idea, uncle Jamie?" I asked. Of course I didn't trust him or my mother,  neither  almost anyone  else  on the damn continent for that matter. Marrek was one of the few possible exceptions,  he was competent,  and even  though he was ambitious,  he was loyal because once I got the crown, there wouldn’t be anyone else who could raise him higher than I. 

Naturally, there were reasons to distrust some people more than others, like uncle Jamie, because after his years long track of less than stellar indiscretions, I simply couldn’t trust him with most things. 

"Oh, I don't know. All the shenanigans you've been up to lately  and kept close to your chest. "  Jamie gave me a speculative look.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. I'm just little old unassuming me!" I deadpanned.

Marrek snorted at that comment. He knew better. After all, my Sworn S hield was the go to man for  many of my schemes within King's Landing...

"Well, this appears to be the correct place," Jamie snorted  as we approached the next brothel.

Moans and grunts could be clearly heard coming from a row of single floor stone buildings.

"I just hope that we are at the right brothel this time," I grumbled.

"Oh, I don't know..." Marrek smirked. "You liked what you saw at the last one."

"Can you blame me? I haven't been laid ever since leaving Storm's End," I shrugged. When consider ing my time spent in the last dimension, the period becomes much longer…  That said, with barely a trickle of the Force, the last thing I needed was to catch all the venerical diseases, because I doubted I could heal myself with the energy I had access to. Back in the good old days, combination of technology and good old Sith shenanigans meant that I didn’t need to worry about any diseases, which made visiting brothels and most thus the best trained lovers in the galaxy practical. 

"He's your brother, uncle. By all means find him!" I theatrically waved for Jaime to proceed. He rolled his eyes and started going from door to door looking for Tyrion. In the process he caused some grumbling, the odd shout of protest and had to deftly dodge few thrown apples and even an empty metal bow.

The show continued for couple of minutes, until Jaime opened another door and instead of just glancing inside he walked in. Jackpot. Or a Northern whore who had uncanny resemblance to Cersei...

"Don't get up," we heard Jaime say.

"Milord..." a husky female voice answered him.

I shook my head and went inside, leaving Marrek to make c ertain arrangements. I glanced within the room, which was rather large and well furnished;  this place was certainly much better class than I expected to find up North.

Tyrion was laying on a rather big bet next to the far wall. A naked whore with nice assets, which were hidden by her long hair was on the bed next to him.

"Nephew! This is unexpected..." he glared at us. "Do I have to explain to either of you what a closed whorehouse door means?"

"I'm sure you've forgotten more on this subject that both of us ever knew..." I snorted at my younger uncle.

"Our sister requires your attention."  Jamie added.

"She has strange tastes..." Tyrion trailed off  and grimaced at the thought.

I rolled my eyes at their antics.

"Your absence was noticed uncle," I stated coldly. "I don't appreciate doing damage control because you couldn't keep it in your pants for half hour longer!" I glared at Tyrion. “ I’ve had enough trouble cleaning up after this one.” I jabbed an accusing finger at Jamie, who winced.

T yrion just shrugged and looked at the woman spawned on the bed next to him.

"Who could resist this?" he asked pointing at her.

"You will be on the feast the Starks are throwing in the King's honor tonight," I almost growled at my uncle. “ Even if I have to drag you over there myself and trust me, uncle, if I have to do it, you won’t enjoy the experience.”

Jaime shook his head and went to nearby table where he got himself a mug of ale.

"Tyrion, please don't leave me alone with those people!" he tried another angle of attack. “ Besides, you must know by now, Durran isn’t joking.” 

"Which ones? The locals or the imbeciles we brought all the way from King' Landing?" I quipped.

Tyrion hugged the girl with one hand and smirked at us.

"I've already started feasting!"

"We thought that this might be your answer," I snorted at Tyrion. "Marrek, bring the ladies in. As for you, I want you reasonably sober for tonight's torture, I mean feast..."

My knight brought four more girls inside, who piled on the bed with Tyrion,  giggling all the way. 

"Durran! You know how to make your point!" T yrion’s muffled voice came from within a pile of soft, pilable flesh.

After we were outside I locked eyes with Marrek.

"Why me, damn it all to hell?!" I asked no one in particular.

Ever since I was dumped here, a huge part of my time had been taken by cleaning  up my family's messes. With every passing day, killing most of them was becoming more and more appealing.

** =S ith = **

**Courtyard**

**Winterfell**

I shouldn't be surprised. Not at all. Our little chat with Tyrion was for naught, so soon after the Feast started I excused myself for a moment and went out searching for the little menace, with Marrek trailing after me like a shadow.

To my surprise, I found my uncle in the courtyard. H e was s peaking with Jon Snow of all people. I grinned and headed their way.

"I'm preparing for a night with your family!" Tyrion said and took a long swing from a wineskin filled with the Gods know what.

"That's good to know!" I exclaimed cheerfully.

"Durran, you wound me my boy. Do you have so little faith in me? I told you I'll be there!"  Tyrion attempted to defend himself, though I didn’t buy it. 

"Uh, huh," I m uttered and t urned my attention to the teen with whom my uncle was chatting. "You must be Jon. Why didn't we see you at the feast?" I asked though I already knew the answer.

"Lady Stark decided that the Royal family might be offended if they saw a bastard at the feast," he grunted.  This one was n ot a happy puppy.

I snorted. There were a lot of bastards on the feast,  both literal and figurative, though no one could know about four of us for the time being. I nodded my head towards my Sworn Shield.

"So is he, but I can assure you no one is making any waves about it , besides, Marrek here is one of the best men I know. In the end it's mostly irrelevant. A man makes his own way in life. Being a bastard, it only makes your path a bit harder in some respects. Easier in others."

Snow glared at us.

"My nephew is correct. Don't forget who you are. Wear it as a badge of honor so no one could use it against you," Tyrion added hi s own bit of wisdom.

"If you want to make something of yourself Jon Snow, you can come with us back to King's Landing. I could always use another sword. Besides, no one fucks up with my people."

"Not for long  anyway. " Marrek  added.

"Think about it, Jon. Now, you two come one. They are missing us at the feast!"

"But Lady Stark..."

"Enough! Fall in line and march straight to the great hall! Both of you!" my voice snapped like a whip, with the tone I've used on countless battlefields across a t h e galaxy.

Jon blanched and hurried towards the great hall. Tyrion on the other hand, gave me a long contemplative look before nodding thoughtfully and wadding towards the sounds of the feast.

Marrek was giving me an inquiring look too. He knew the tone I used very well. It was one of an experienced battlefield commander.  That was an issue, because despite his clashes with bandits and other assorted scum, Durran  certainly wasn’t an experienced veteran, much less a commander.

"It's a long story my friend. This is neither the time or place for it," I said and walked towards the great hall, while mentally kicking myself for the slip up.

How the hell I was going to explain that? Neither Marrek or Tyrion were fools.

**=Sith=**

**Part 3**

**=Eddard=**

**Courtyard**

**Winterfell**

Two days after the welcoming feast, Ned was preparing to join his old friend on a hunt. He was absentmindedly stroking the neck of his warhorse while thinking over everything that happened since the King arrived.  _'Perhaps the hunt will do me some good,'_ he thought. Eddard needed something to get his mind o f f the problems that lay ahead. Because, despite his better judgment and the advice of his wife, he had agreed to become the  H and of the King.  When all was said and done,  Robert was his friend and needed his help.

In the end two things influenced his decision. Robert needed someone who he could trust in King's Landing and a letter he had received from Cat's sister, Lysa, who was Jon Arryn's widow. According to her the man who was a second father to both Robert and Ned had been murdered,  l ikely by the Lannisters, who already had too much power in the capital.

He had to get to the bottom of this mystery and help his friend. Ned's honor demanded nothing less. Yet, he couldn't help it but feel ill at ease with his decision...

"Lord Stark! I hear that congratulations are in order!" exclaimed Prince Durran, who had sneaked next to him while Ned was pondering on his decision.

Eddard pat his horse's neck and turned around. Robert's second son was walking towards Ned,  with his Sworn S hield was trailing  a step behind  him. Lord Stark examined the young man carefully. He was unsure what to make of Durran. The Prince appeared to be a stabilizing influence on his family, which wasn't a bad thing. The few  older  rumors about him, which had reached Winterfell said that Durran wasn't interested in playing the Game, which was something that Eddard could respect... If he could trust what people whisper ed in the dark that is.  After the Wildfire Plot, people began singing a different song about the Saviour of King’s Landing. Durran had apparently became quite active as a consequence, though perhaps that was a good thing when all was said and done. 

The truth was that Eddard hadn't made up his mind about this Prince. What he had seen so far suggested that Durran was reasonably competent and not particularly ambitious. H owever, there were few things that... felt off about the youngster. It wasn't anything he could point at,  not really.  It was j ust a n uneasy feeling he had , one without a good apparent reason. For example, right now  Ned couldn't really say that the Prince was trying to be anything but polite. It was expected that Durran, as a part of the Royal family and soon to be a Lord in his own right, would be one of the first to hear about Eddard accepting the Kings "offer". So, the Prince coming to offer his congratulations, well that was just  the done thing. 

Yet, for a moment Durran's cheerful expression disappeared. Ned was taken aback by the look of pity that the Prince gave him. It was a fleeting thing, gone before Eddard could be sure what he saw. Just like that, Robert's son was beaming at him and asking about what game they could expect to hunt.  It was a smooth transition, a s if that was the reason why the Royal came to see him in the first place.  Yet, gods damn it… Was he already becoming unreasonably paranoid and seeing plots and shadows where there weren’t any?!

The Lord of Winterfell frowned, wondering how much over his head he would be in King's Landing... He shook himself and nodded.

"Thank you, my Prince."

"So what about the game in this part of the Realm? What are we going to hunt? Boars, deer?"  Durran excitedly repeated his question, displaying boundless youthful exuberance.

**=S** **ith** **=**

**=Bran=**

**Battlements**

**Winterfell**

Bran watched how his father, brothers, the lucky bastards, and the King’s men headed to their hunt. He wanted to join them, but was apparently too young. He hated being treated like a child! He was ten years old already!

He looked dejectedly at the leaving horsemen and smiled when he met his father's eyes.

His Direwolf pup came bouncing  at him  as if it had sensed his mood being rather down. Bran grinned at his furry friend  and rubbed his ears. 

"Come boy!" he shouted and ran further in the courtyard with the pup yipping happily after him.

Bran played a bit with his Direwolf Summer, until the host had left and there was no one in sight to scream at him during his favorite past time. Ned's son snu ck a glance right and left. He saw that no one was looking at him and grinned. Bran started climbing the wall so he could make his way to one of the abandoned towers. He knew from experience that it was unlikely that there would be anyone to interrupt his fun. And he was right! Few minutes later, Bran was climbing an abandoned tower, all the while Summer was whining below him.

There was only one tiny problem –  o nce he  got near the top of the tower, Bran heard noises. Moaning,  sights, something moving upstairs. He frowned. His first thought was to scurry down and make himself scarce, before he was caught. It wasn't fun when his mother was angry with him.

He looked up, towards the top, then glanced down, where Summer was getting more and more restless. Bran was torn, wondering what to do.

But not for long,  h e soon reached a decision.

Bran was just a kid, after all,  and he loved climbing. In a short battle between his common sense and curiosity, the later won,  a s one might expect. So Bran continued his ascent, climbing towards the sounds. It took him no longer than a  few moment s  to reach his target. Or at least he felt that no time passed  at between deciding to continue climbing  and reaching his destination.

Once he was near the top, it was easy to move sideways until he found a large window. The sounds were coming from inside. It was a bit too far to reach, but he was lucky once again! There was some plant growing up the whole height of the tower, which had a thin, but hard stem. It was just like green, leaf covered rope, and it was conveniently placed so he could reach the window and peek inside. Actually passing the last meter or two to his destination was the hardest part of his climb, yet he made it! Bran clutched the plant and looked into the tower. He frowned, that was certainly not what the boy was expecting!

He saw the Queen, who was on her knees, leaning her back on a man who looked just like her! That was the Kingslayer, her brother! But what were they doing up here?! Alone at that...

Then the Queen looked straight at him!

"Stop!" she said in breathless voice.

Bran winced. He got caught,  a gain! He just knew that he should have done something else today... Perhaps if he got away really fast...

But it was not to be. Before Bran could try running, Jaime darted towards the window and picked him up by the front of his tunic.

"He saw us!" exclaimed the Queen.

The Kingslayer glared at Bran, scaring him.

"Are you mad boy?" exclaimed the Kingsguard.

"Damn it, Durran was right! This will be the death of us!" muttered the Queen.

"I heard you the first time, sister."  The blond man grimaced 

The Kingslayer looked at Bran with a sad,  pained  smile on his face.

"You are quite the little climber, aren't you? Why couldn't just stay back at the keep!?"  Jamie Lannister asked no one in particular.

"My son will know..." whispered Cersei.

"Perhaps," said Jaime and glanced at his sister who was giving him a pointed look. "All right... your son is much brighter and more dangerous than anyone thought him to be. He'll suspect at the very least. But, what can he do? What would he do even if he knew? It's his head too if this secret  gets out!" The Kingslayer gave a small smile to his sister, before returning his attention to Bran, who was becoming real scared now.

It was obvious to him that he had poked his head  into something he had no business knowing. But now it was too late  to unsee whatever this was...

"How old are you boy?" asked the Kingslayer.

Bran looked at the man with huge eyes before gathering the courage to answer.

"Ten!" the boy hoped that his voice really didn't sound as scared as he thought it to be.

"Ten?" repeated Jaime. "What a pity."

The Kingsguard turned his head towards his sister.

"The things I do for love. For you and my children..."

Those were the last words Bran heard. Jaime's hand moved faster than he could follow. Suddenly the air was forcefully expelled from Bran's lungs. Then he was flying. And falling...

A Direwolf howled in the distance.

Bran's fall abruptly stopped. He heard something breaking;  a crow cawed at him,  then there was only darkness…

**=Sith=**

**Part 4**

**=Joffrey=**

**Royal Hunting Party**

**Forests near Winterfell**

The Crown Prince reloaded his crossbow, grinning madly. The only thing that could make his day better was if his shot had struck one of his irritating siblings instead of the wild geese, which he killed. Well, you can't win them all at once,  he guessed. Perhaps the next time. Besides, w hen he was  the K ing, he would deal with his detractors, especially that ignorant fool Durran! That imbecile, who did he think himself to be?! Joffrey was the eldest! He would be King! He loathed being kept on a leash by his younger brother!

He took a deep breath and scanned the forest for another target,  he really felt like killing something, preferably right now. Joffrey needed to kill something to calm down,  or at least hurt some blighter to make himself feel better. The way his younger brother and mother were trying to tell him what to do... It was making him mad! Didn't they know who he was?! He will be their ruler soon enough!  He was the Lion of Lannister! 

The Prince saw something move in the branches of a tall tree. His arms snapped up, bringing his weapon to bear. He hastily took aim and let a bolt loose.

"DAMN it!" Joffrey fumed.

His shot flew through the greenery hitting nothing of importance. His target, a brown feathered bird squeaked in fright and flew away in terror.

Joffrey growled at his escaping prey. He would kill the next one for sure!

The Heir to the Throne reloaded again and made his horse walk deeper in to the forest at a brisk pace, his useless retainers followed suit.

When he didn't find another convenient target to vent off his displeasure  at , Joffrey let his loaded weapon hung by a strap of crimson fabric. His throat was becoming a bit dry so he turned his attention to his retainers and shouted "I'm thirsty! Bring me something to drink!"

A young Lannister page ran towards him, bringing a small wineskin which was adorned with jewels.

"Here, Mylord. It's Dornish!" exclaimed the lad, aiming to please.

Joffrey grabbed the wineskin, glaring at the servant for not being prompt enough. Perhaps beating the little idiot would make him act faster next time,  even t hough he doubted it. He had instructed a few guards to do so back in King's Landing, but it didn't have the desired effect. However, that might be because Durran stumbled upon the scene and stopped the guards from disciplining thi s lout and that bitch of a sister of his that worked at the Red Keep ...

He tried the wine and smirked. It was the good stuff, as befitting a Prince. It was sweet and spiced, going down real slick.

Joffrey finished the wine and threw the now empty wineskin behind, without a care in the world. He never stopped to think that his drink might have been a little  bit  too sweet. It was Dornish after all. Their wines were some of the sweetest in all the Seven Kingdoms.

Neither the Crown Prince  n or his other retainers paid any more attention to the page who scurried after the expensive wineskin. They didn't see the small, thin smile that stretched his face. As far as almost anyone was concerned, it was business as usual. Just another hunt with the King and his bratty eldest son, though in Northern setting this time.

** =S ith = **

**=Tyrion=**

**Courtyard**

**Winterfell**

Tyrion and Sandor Cleagne, who was better known as the Hound, were drinking ale in the courtyard. The whole of Winterfell was subdued around them. As if it wasn't enough that one of Stark’s younger sons had fallen while climbing, though Tyrion had some suspicions about that, his nephew had fallen ill. It was an uncanny coincidence and while the Lannister Lord knew that those did happen, he didn’t trust them. He could vividly remember how messengers interrupted the hunt with news of the tragedy that had befallen Lord Stark's family and everyone made their way back to Winterfell.  Soon after the hunting party got back, Joffrey started feeling light headed. A nasty coughing fit followed few hours later and there they were...

"Now this..." muttered Tyrion.

Cleagne shrugged and took a swing from his cup.

"Shit happens," grunted the Hound.

Tywin's youngest  son  shook his head. He wasn't an idiot. Two boys of noble families, one the Crowned Prince no less, and the other the  child of the Warden of the North, suffering misfortune on the same day?! Even if the gods themselves came down and swore that it all was a damn c oincidence , he wouldn't believe it.

B ecause of the station he was born  into , Tyrion had been forced to learn how to play the game. Oh, he hated it and preferred to spend his time whoring and drinking, not necessary in that order, but he was better than most. He had to be, with his father being arguably the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms...  Besides, the simple  fact that Tywin hated his guts and would love to see him dead, helped motivate him even further.

After all, Tyrion wanted to die o f old age, p referably by being fucked to death by a bunch of spirited whores  and being Tyrion ensuring that he lived that long sometimes did take work. 

"Uncle,  s tarting a bit early today I see," a familiar voice interrupted his lamentation.

Tyrion finished his mug of ale and looked at the source of the v oice .

Durran had sneaked up to them. The Prince was wearing a simple black tunic with the Baratheon stag embodied in silver on his chest. It was uncanny how quietly his nephew could move when not wearing armor.

"Durran. I thought that you would be with your brother."

"Of course not. We can't get the whole Royal family sick if whatever Joff got is contagious! My dear brother wouldn't want us getting his disease after all."  The way Durran spoke, someone unfamiliar with the boys was all but certain to conclude he was telling the truth. There was both concern and pride in the Prince’s voice, all in the right places and amount for best impact.

Tyrion snorted. It was a public secret that Robert eldest sons loathed each other with a passion,  w hich make him think about this mysterious sickness... Who had to gain the most? Well that person was standing right here, next to the stack of crates on which Tyrion was resting. The Lannister looked at his nephew with narrowed eyes. Before this trip, he could have sworn that Durran would have nothing to do with a... hypothetical poisoning. Now he wasn't so sure.

His favorite nephew had changed. Arguably not for the better, though considering who he had for relatives, well the changes could be beneficial for his long term survival.

Tyrion wondered what had happened during the last six months at Storm's End. Whatever it was, it had radically changed Durran. Oh, for a casual observer the young man performed well enough so a significant difference couldn't be observed.  People said that Durran had merely come out of his shell now that he was growing into being a proper man and soon to be a Lord Paramount… or a future King.  Nevertheless, T yrion knew his nephew better than m ost . Durran was no longer the patient, almost gentle soul he knew. While his nephew could be a hard man when necessary, he wasn't a player in the Game of Thrones,  well not b eyond the bare minimum needed to survive as a part of the royal family  anyway. Durran had lacked the necessary ruthlessness.

After Jon Arryn died,  after he uncovered the Wildfire Plot and showed his fangs,  that changed. It was in the boy's eyes –  there were times that looking at Durran, Tyrion saw his father in the boy’s gaze. Perhaps it was because of the understanding of how close they all came to death, perhaps it was something that happened back at Storm’s End, and while the reason  was a mystery,  there was no doubt. Durran had changed, he was a hard man now. The boy he knew was no more.

"This trip has a rather tragic turn,"  T yrion  eventually said.

"Indeed, uncle. Let's hope that there won't be any other wicked things happening before we return to King's Landing."

Tyrion raised and eyebrow. "Such a curious choice of words, Durran."

"Is that so?" the Prince looked at him with huge, innocent eyes.

Tyrion almost bought it. He would have if there wasn't such weariness in those deep emerald pools. At that moment, Durran looked like an old man who had seen too m any battlefields,  experienced too much.  It was something that the Hound noticed too, which made him pay closer attention to the boy. How interesting…  That was the apt way to put it – nowadays, Durran had the eyes of an old man...

"It would be for the best that the remainder of our visit goes without further unpleasanties, don't y o u think? Our arrival brought ill fortune to the North, both for the Starks and us. That's all I mean, uncle."

"Too true," T yrion muttered q uietly .

"We are leaving in two days," D urran changed the topic.

Well, that was surprising. Though when he thought about it, Tyrion should have seen it coming. It was just like Robert. After all, the King had never been particularly taken in with his eldest, thinking him to be too soft and he u sually blamed Cersei in particular and the Lannisters in general for how the boy turned out.  Tyrion would give him that, the King was right about his dear sister. She was most to blame in how the young man had turned out.

Seven Hells, the loaf they had for a King might expedite their departure only to needle Cersei! It would be just like the drunken sod to do such a thing!

The youngest Lannister stared at his nephew. He was wondering if Durran had not only the guts, but the skills and contacts needed to arrange the poisoning of his brother.

If indeed true, his suspicions went way beyond family rivalry. When you are a part of the Royal family, you had to play by more complicated rules. Every one of your actions were seen in different light and the stakes for both failure and success were astronomical.

The real question was, did it really matter? Tyrion knew of some of Joffery's excesses. The Kingdom had one mad King i n the not so distant past, it certainly  didn't need another. Though whether Joffrey could have been steered in a more manageable direction, that was another question. 'And when did I star thinking of my eldest nephew as if he was already dead?' Tyrion wondered.

Then he looked at the blank face of Durran and then at his shadow Marrek. If either of those two were responsible for Joffrey's mysterious illness, then the Heir to the Iron Throne was a goner,  because Tryion somehow doubted they would have half-arsed something like this.

Durran gave him a curt nod. His green eyes sparkled with something dark. They didn't belong to someone so young.

Really, what was with his mind constantly demanding that Durran’s eyes were impossibly old? Did he drink some bad wine last night? Besides, wasn’t it a stretch to go from the hero who saved King’s Landing just a few weeks ago and was rumoured to be funding multiple orphanages to take care of the orphaned smallfolk in the city, to a prospective and effective kinslayer?!

S till , for whatever reason, there was something odd in Durran he felt, something that made  Tyrion fe el afraid from one of his nephews. It was then, that he decided to keep his suspicions private and a s close to his chest as possible. He didn't have any proof anyway. Even if he liked Joffrey and he was sure of the foul play, Tyrion might have remained silent,  because he  was the Imp,  a man often laughed and ridiculed,  by most people  with the notable exception of Jamie, Durran  and his long dead wife.

In the end, what w as a dwarf to do?  Why should he even entertain the idea of making baseless accusations against one of the few people who ever treated him decently?  W ell, that said, there was one thing he was going to do – never again underestimate Durran, who in the end might turn out to be the most Lannister man within their whole family, his surname notwinstanding.

A woman's wail exploded over Winterfell. For a split second Durran's lips twitched upwards in a resemblance of a grim smile, before he schooled his face back into a dispassionate mask.

Tyrion cursed. Despite hating her guts, he felt a pang of sadness for his sister. He could easily recognize her voice in the pain stricken screams flying over the city.

Joffrey was dead, he knew that for certain… and he was pretty sure that even if Durran didn’t arrange it, he would not shed any tears over his late and unalamented brother.

_ "The Winter is coming –  that’s the  motto of the Starks. In hindsight I find it oddly appropriate that it all  really  began in the North. I wonder how many people will see the beginning of the next winter." _

_**\- Marrek Storm, Sworn Shield of Crown Prince Durran Baratheon** _

_"What would you do if you carry a suspicion like mine? When you believe that one of you nephews poisoned another, yet, you can't really say you wouldn't do the same in his shoes? Was it for the crown? For that damn Iron Throne? Or to protect yourself from a future King who despises you? Why did you do it, Durran?_

_Me? It's simple really. I am going to visit the Wall. It will be much safer than a trip back to King's Landing with my sister. Then, who knows?"_

_**\- Tyrion Lannister, the Imp** _


	4. Chapter 4: A tale of murders, funerals and arranged marriages

  
  


**AN: This part was betaed by Sbiper on the alternative history forums. Thank you very much.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

  
  


**Chapter** **4** **: A tale of Murders, Funerals and Arranged Marriages**

  
  


**=** **Sith** **=**

  
  


**Part 1**

  
  


**=Durran=**

  
  


**Great Hall**

**Winterfell**

  
  


You know, being a prospective Crown prince can be a pain in the ass. First, your mad dog of a brother didn't have the grace to die a few days later, the little bastard. Then you have to be one of the unlucky folks trying to console the grieving Queen Cersei, one of the finalists for a Queen Bitch of the Universe...

  
  


When that is done, somehow without you going into a murderous rage, then the King decides that it's a swell time to have a brainstorm. Yup. No matter that Joff died from a mysterious “illness” and Bran fell from a ruined tower, and is unknown if he'll survive... Robert Baratheon wanted to bind his House to the North, to the Starks. Last night I had a private chat with the King and was informed that I'm to marry Sansa Stark instead of my dead brother.

  
  


Then Robert passed out after finishing a mug of ale.

  
  


So here I am, two days after my unlamented brother's passing: breaking my fast with my remaining siblings and my Lannister uncles, while my "father" was undoubtedly burying his grief within the assets of a serving wench or two. Myrcella and Tommen, who knew exactly who and what Joffrey was, a petty vindictive little monster, weren't particularly saddened by his demise, though after a subtle prompting from myself, both of them managed to fake suitable amount of grief.

  
  


I took a bite of cheese and gave a pointed look to Jamie.

  
  


"It appears that at least something might go well in here," I opened the conversation in an unconcerned tone. "According to the Maester, Bran might well awake."

  
  


If I wasn't looking carefully, I would have missed the subtle shift in my father's bearing or the way his eyes slightly narrowed at the news. In case I needed a proof that the kid didn't manage to fall because he fucked up climbing, which was always possible, I just got it, me thinks.

  
  


"Even if he awakes the boy will be a cripple. Better to deliver him from his misery. He won't have a real life otherwise!" declared Jaime.

  
  


I must admit, I did get a lot of satisfaction from watching the bastard sweat and squirm, even if he was very good in concealing it. Servers him right. Was it really so hard not to fuck Cersei for the duration of this journey?!

  
  


"I don't know about that..." rumbled Tyrion."Some say I'm a cripple too, but I'm doing all right!"

  
  


"You really don't want to continue that train of thought anywhere near my sister!" I grumbled at my vertically challenged uncle and shot him a warning look.

  
  


"As if I couldn't tell what you are all talking about!" Myrcella huffed. She rolled her eyes at us and shook her blond mane in exasperation. "It's not like I'm still a little girl or something!"

  
  


Riiight. She was a brat, one with whom I didn't want to have this or a similar conversation, like ever. "Eat your breakfast, sister dearest," I said in a voice that brooked no argument. She glared my way, but returned to her food. In turn, I r edirected my attention towards Jamie. "Uncle, you never know. The Gods might be sympathetic for once and the kid might turn out to be all right. Stranger things had happened," I shrugged, needling him.

  
  


Why do you ask? The gods damned fool just had the opportunity to begin redeeming himself after the Wildfire Plot came to light and instead, this – he might just have fucked up the realm, consigning it to war, not to mention, imperilled my head remaining firmly attached to my shoulders, the bloody bastard!

  
  


The Kingsguard answered me with a thoughtful frown. At the same time, Tyrion finally decided that this wasn't a conversation for the present company, decided to change the topic. "I hear that congratulations might be in order, Durran."

  
  


My siblings perked up at that.

  
  


"Apparently Houses Baratheon and Stark are to be joined despite the twin tragedies that struck us," I nodded. "I'm to be officially betrothed to Sansa Stark, once we come back to King's Landing."

  
  


"She's a nice looking girl at least," Jaime i nterjected .

  
  


"Who obviously fell in love with Joffrey at first sight and is a grief stricken mess right now." I helpfully pointed out.

  
  


Her current grieving status showed that whatever she might become in the future, at the present time Sansa was nothing more than extremely naive little girl. Knowing just what a little monster Joffrey was, he could have fit in with some of the more unhinged Sith I knew, at least until they tired of his antics that is.

  
  


"Ah, the joys of the arranged marriages. At least Jamie and I managed to avoid that particular bolt so far!" Tyrion saluted me with his half-empty mug, spilling some ale on the table.

  
  


"It's still early in the morning, brother. A bit early to be tipsy, isn't it?" Jamie japed.

  
  


"Bloody jesters..." I muttered under my breath and returned to my meal.

  
  


On the bright side, I had to console myself with my scheme going off apparently flawlessly so far. Joff was very much dead indeed, the page who fed him the poison was sick as well and dying, courtesy of a dose of the same stuff, however he was quite happy nevertheless – in one fell move, the lad had ensured his family would be provided for, not to mention, the dead sadistic prick wasn’t available to abuse his sister any more. Who knew that being more hated than feared could have lethal consequences…

  
  


That said, this was Westeross so I was now waiting for the other shoe to drop...

  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Eddard Stark=**

  
  


**The Solar**

**Winterfell**

  
  


Ned had retreated to the solar, dealing with some of the not too sensitive paperwork that came with his title of a Warden of the North. Though it would be more accurate to say that he was trying to work, and failing quite badly at that. His mind kept jumping to what happened to Bran and the grief stricken mess Cat had become. The latest stunt from his old friend Robert didn't help either. The King had wanted to announce the betrothal between Sansa and Durran almost the next day after Joffrey died from his illness, but Ser Barristan and Eddard managed to persuade him to wait at least until they reached King's Landing. That at least was another headache temporally dealt with. He didn't want to think how his grieving daughter, Sansa, would have reacted to such an announcement, after the girl had fallen in love with the Crown Prince at first sight.

  
  


Eddard frowned and looked at the letter he had been writing. His distraction was enough for his quill to leave a big dot of ink and mess up the parchment, wasting it. That was the second one he had to throw away that morning as no longer suitable for official correspondence.

  
  


He left the quill on the table and leaned back into his chair. Eddard couldn't help but think that the Royal visit had become a disaster for everyone involved. First his little boy, then Joffrey... As if a curse had come to Winterfell with the Royals. Then there was the reason for the visit in the first place – Jon Arryn's death, or perhaps his murder as he had a reason to believe thanks to Lisa's letter. Ned sighed. It all meant that he had a little choice, but do his duty, accept the position of a Hand and try to untangle the whole gods awful mess. Which meant that he had to go straight to the lion's den that King's Landing was reputed to be and thanks to the impending betrothal, bring at least one of his daughters with him. That was something that sat ill at ease with Ned. The capital wasn't a healthy place for a Stark to be.

  
  


The Warden of the North winced remembering his father’s and brother's fate and shook his head. Eddard would have to take some extra precautions to keep his daughter safe.

  
  


The doors in the far end of the solar opened and caught Ned's attention. Eddard was surprised by the identity of his visitor. Of all people in the Winterfell, the new Crown Price wasn't the one who he would have expected. He stood up to greet the royal and was immediately rebuked with a hand wave.

  
  


"No need of that, My Lord Stark."

  
  


"Your Highness. Please be seated."

  
  


"Thank you. We need to talk." The prince's face suddenly became a blank mask, his tone – deadly serious. "I hope that the walls here don't have ears for once."

  
  


"Ah, no. It’s safe to talk privately." Ned nodded to the otherwise empty solar.

  
  


"I hope so. Your appointment as a Hand...” Durran sighed. “I must implore you to decline."

  
  


Eddard frowned. There was something in the way Durran was speaking and carrying himself. If Ned didn’t know better, he would have sworn that the Prince was years older, weary of the world and burdens he was yet to carry. Then there were his eyes – the usual cheer and mischief, Robert's son had displayed until the tragedies struck, were now absent. Instead, a pair of old, tired eyes were staring back at him. The Lord of Winterfell blinked at the Prince wondering if his own eyes were playing games with him due to his grief and lack of sleep lately.

  
  


"Why is that, your Highness.?" Stark inquired politely.

  
  


"For your sake my Lord. For your family's sake. King's Landing is much different place than you might remember."

  
  


Ned stiffened. Was this young pup threatening him?! He dismissed that idea. No, this was a warning. Eddard was suddenly sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jon had been murdered and Durran knew something about it.

  
  


The prince smiled sadly. "For the sake of your friendship with my father if nothing else."

  
  


"What do you know, your Highness.?"

  
  


"Why, many things, Lord Stark. You have to be more specific."

  
  


"Don't be coy, my Prince. It's unbecoming to someone of your station." Damn those southerners and their games!

  
  


Durran chuckled at the rebuke. "On the contrary. You know, I rather like what I've seen from the North. It's a much quieter, more simple place. Here I hardly need to deal with ten plots before breakfast."

  
  


Ned raised an eyebrow. Ah. Southern politics. He had almost forgotten why he hated most of the other realms.

  
  


"I'm glad that you like it here." was his neutral response. He wondered where the Prince was going.

  
  


"You are an honourable man, Lord Stark. Perhaps the most honourable in the realm."

  
  


Somehow, Eddard didn't think that Durran was giving him a compliment. The boy's next words proved him right.

  
  


"In the capital, that honour will be your undoing. No matter how necessary, you and my father set a precedent all those years ago." Durran paused.

  
  


It took a moment for Eddard to grasp his meaning. Oh, fuck. The prince was talking about a possible civil war.

  
  


"Surely the King..."

  
  


Durran laughed mirthlessly. "Let me tell you what will happen, my Lord Stark. One of these days my father will go out on one of his famous hunts and won't come back. Then all bets will be off. I'm a young, untested Prince, one who no one was taking particularly seriously until recently. Do I need to go on?"

  
  


Eddard winced. After being Robert's host for some time now, he could see his old friend going out on a hunt drunk. Accidents did happen after all, besides he was almost sure that the prince was implying that someone might make sure a tragedy occurred. Nevertheless, the succession was secured. Robert still had two more sons, the odds that both of them suffered either accidents or assassination were ridiculous.

  
  


"Not all men are as honourable as you, my Lord. You shouldn't assume that there is anyone in the South w ho would act as you would do.  That’s e specially  true  when honour crashes with the interests of the great houses." Durran pointed out.

  
  


That was some food for thought. Yet there was something that Durran didn't mention.

  
  


"What about Robert's proposal, Your Highness? What are your thoughts on such a match?”

  
  


"My betrothal to your eldest daughter?" The Prince shook his head. "Politically it makes little sense. Despite what you Northerners did the last time you decided to visit fairer climates, the truth is that your realm is simply too far. What House Baratheon needs to cement its rule on that damn uncomfortable chair is closer ties with one more of the realms bordering the Crownlands. That can stabilize Westeros for a generation s to come. There are ties of friendship between our Houses already. Ties that still could be strengthened by marriage. I do have two younger siblings after all. But, me marrying in the South? That will create a block made of four Great Houses, making another civil war out of the question."

  
  


"And the alternative?"

  
  


"It leaves the realm ready to go up in flames when something happens to father."

  
  


"Does it? Right now Robert has his own House, the Crownlands, The Lannisters and the North behind him. Even if something happens to him..." Eddard trailed off, wondering how Durran had become so paranoid.

  
  


"Ah. You are making an assumption on your honour. I warned you about that. Let us just say that I know my uncles. If something happens to my father, most of the Stormlands won't necessary be backing a young untested Prince.”

  
  


Durran stood up and left without saying anything else. Eddard stayed in the solar late into the night, pondering on the prince's words. What he said about the Stormlands was decidedly odd, especially after how he proved himself lately… Then again, with Robert becoming a King and thus directly ruling the Crownlands, it was only natural for the Stormlords to owe their allegiance first and foremost to one of his younger brothers first. It was decidedly odd that Stannis was still just the Lord of Dragonstone and Warden of the Narrow Sea, while Renly was merely the Master of Laws and acting regent for Prince Durran, who until the death of his elder brother was designated as Lord of Storm’s End and Warden of the Stormlands…

  
  


Ned sighed. He could almost see the Prince’s thinking, if he squinted hard enough. Unless Robert gave their birthright to either of his younger brothers, that left only Tommen as the next prospective Lord of the Baratheon’s ancestral seat. Was that enough to cause either Stannis or Renly to do something unfortunate the moment Robert died? Would they risk a civil war to retake Storm’s End? And if one of them did so, would they be bold and desperate enough to make a play for the Iron Throne itself?

  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**Part 2**

  
  


**=Durran=**

  
  


**Guest Quarters**

**Winterfell**

  
  


  
  


  
  


That figures. Robert isn't fond of the Lannisters. But perhaps it was just Jamie and Cersei in which case I couldn’t really blame him. Currently, I wasn’t particularly fond of either of those two fools. After all, I've been here for couple of months and already contemplated murdering them both. On the other hand, fucking the help, while your wife's twin brother was guarding the door was getting a bit much. It was a wonder that Jamie hadn’t murdered his second King already.

  
  


"Hi, Uncle. He's in, I take it?"

  
  


Jamie rolled his eyes. "What gave it up?"

  
  


"That's not mother inside, right?" I asked warily. That was one image I didn’t need in my head.

  
  


The ugly look he gave me was an answer enough.

  
  


"Good. Now be a good knight and move away. I'm going to talk with father." I grinned.

  
  


"He's busy." Jamie deadpanned.

  
  


"So? Did he actually order you not to let anyone in?"

  
  


"No." Jamie’s answer was succinct and to the point.

  
  


My smile grew wider.

  
  


"No problem then. Just tell anyone who asks that I overpowered you."

  
  


"Seriously? Cheeky brat."

  
  


"That's your Bratiness, for you." I quipped. "Now let me in. It will feel good, helping to cockblock the King."

  
  


"I'll regret this." he smirked. "Go straight in. It's on your head."

  
  


"I find your lack of faith in me is disturbing, Uncle."

  
  


Jamie shook his head and opened the door waving me in.

  
  


"The fuck?" Robert growled.

  
  


"We need to talk, father. And, no fucking around until we are done." I glanced at the mostly dressed wench in his lap. Yeah, cockbloked before he's done much of anything. "You can continue it later, lass. Now scatter away."

  
  


The girl who might have been eighteen, if you didn’t look too closely blushed furiously, averted her eyes and sprinted out of the room.

  
  


"The fuck do you want, Durran?" Robert gave me his patented glower. It would have been much more impressive if he hadn't become a great lump of fat as of late. "I was busy."

  
  


"Yeah. Nice lass with great curves in the right places."

  
  


"Who's no longer here." his glare went up a notch as he pointed out the source of his ire.

  
  


"Well, we can't have a private  conversation with the help around." I shrugged.

  
  


"Whatever it is it could have waited, damn it!"

  
  


"Uh-huh. Nope. You know, I just had words with your old friend, Ned. He's actually as honourable as the people say. Perhaps even more so.” I shook my head in exasperation.

  
  


The poor excuse for a King that was my father was caught off guard by the abrupt change of topic. That wasn’t something he would have happened if he hadn't let himself go down the drains for the last couple of decades. Or so people kept whispering when they thought no one could overhear them. They might even be right but I wouldn’t know. Robert Baratheon, the Demon of the Trident and the peerless warrior, that wasn’t the father I knew.

  
  


"That's Ned, all right!" Robert actually grinned affectionately.

  
  


Note to self, check if the bloody spiky chair or the crown are cursed, making the King a bloody idiot. Then again, perhaps Robert never had been the sharpest tool in the locker.

  
  


"So why do you want him dead?" I asked flatly.

  
  


"WHAT?! Durran have you lost your mind?!" Robert actually jumped off the bed, swayed and had to grab a nearby cupboard to hold himself upright. It was a small miracle that he didn’t fall back down, with the cupboard spilling its contents all over him.

  
  


Ah. So he was already mildly drunk. I should have guessed.

  
  


"Well, throwing him to the wolves in the King's Landing will see to that, no matter your intentions. He won't last more than few months." I shrugged.

  
  


Robert surprised me. He took a deep breath, actually somewhat calming himself and narrowed his eyes at me.

  
  


"Kid, start making some sense now, or I will call the maesters."

  
  


So Robert apparently had a couple of brain cells in working order left. Or perhaps it was me. After all I was supposed to be his competent son, the one who proved himself in the capital over the weeks before we headed North. That had to be a stark contrast compared to Joff and his excesses.

  
  


"Let's see...Jon Aryn, the old fellow who had the constitution of a bull, got sick and died in a single day. He just happened to be the hand of the King. Then, my brother got sick and died, in just a handful of days. My brother, who was the Crown Prince. Do I need to draw you a picture, father? Who is next? Your new Hand? Me? One of my remaining siblings?" I snapped, showing some of that Baratheon temper I was supposed to have inherited from Robert.

  
  


His eyes bulged at the implication. Good. It's another topic why no one really started screaming foul play after Joff died ahead of schedule. Ah. Right. Kriffing medieval world, where even the Royal family wasn't spared by plagues and the odd nasty sickness.

  
  


Note to self, find whoever or whatever stuck me here and kill them slowly.

  
  


"But, the Maesters said…" Robert trailed off, his still living brain cells furiously rubbing together.

  
  


"Riiight. Because there aren't poisons that mimic sickness. The few retainers I have are currently chatting with Joffrey's servants. Checking what he drank and ate that morning before the hunt. It's obviously it was something only he ingested or we would have had a bunch people falling around like flies."

  
  


"We'll see about that. If," Robert stressed the word, "If my eldest son was murdered, I will have someone's head for it!" he was getting riled up.

  
  


Let's hope I wouldn't give him a heart attack. Not that such a thing would be a necessary bad. It’s just that the timing would suck.

  
  


"Still, in such a case I will need Ned in the capital more than ever." Robert changed gears again.

  
  


"So he can get killed while you drink and whore?"

  
  


"Who do you think you are talking to, boy?" he roared.

  
  


Temper much?

  
  


"Number three or four on the hit list depending if whoever has been poisoning people lately decides to go after you or me next. Or perhaps, fifth..." I shrugged. "If Eddard Stark comes to King's Landing. That place will be the death of him." I repeated, hoping I could get through that thick skull of his.

  
  


That statement took the wind of Robert's rage.

  
  


"Fucking poison! That's not proper way to kill people, only pricks like the Dornish like it!" he grumbled.

  
  


Ah. Such a splendid idea. I hadn't really planned to bring them in the mess too, but why not?

  
  


"Perhaps, or all things considered, someone is simply trying to pin the murders on them. It's not a secret that they hate you guts just like Arryn, Stark and of course the Lannisters. Speaking about Lord Stark, let’s not forget that while we are here visiting, one of his sons just happened to fall off a tower.” I paused for effect. “On the same day Joffrey got poisoned." I rolled my eyes. "Just a tragic coincidence, right?"

  
  


"Lannister! Drag your sorry arse in here!" The King bellowed.

  
  


Jamie rushed in, arm on his sword. Was that a hint of relief I saw in his eyes when he figured out that Robert hadn't lost it and murdered me terribly?

  
  


"Durran, here has a disturbing theory on what has been happening lately. Considering I'm quite drunk, but not all out of my wits yet I want to you to tell me what you think about it."

  
  


I should stop underestimating the locals. It figures, that Robert might not have survived as a King that long if he was the bumbling idiot portrayed in the series and books. Granted, on most days he made a splendid rendition of it, but obviously he had some hidden depths. Which was going to make my life both easier and harder.

  
  


I spun my tale to Jamie to, who looked murderous by the time I was finished. So was Robert.

  
  


"Ahem. I hope you two aren't going on a killing spree or something? Our host won't like it, besides it's unlikely whoever is behind the murders to be in Winterfell. At best we'd find someone who had been paid to do the deed, if he's still around. We'll need to act somewhat subtly." I gave them a critical look. "Call Ser Selmy. If he can't be trusted we are probably fucked anyway. Then we need to do some planning."

  
  


"Than what?"

  
  


"Then we find the bastard who engineered the murder of my brother and give him what's coming to him."

  
  


Well, the cat’s paw I used to do the deed was expendable anyway and not long for this world. As far as the mastermind goes, well I intended to take the next step in my dastardly plan to secure the throne for myself.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**Part 3**

  
  


**=Tyrion Lannister=**

  
  


**Servant's Quarters**

**Winterfell**

  
  


  
  


  
  


Tyrion looked around the room. The place was a mess, thrashed furniture and scattered clothes laid everywhere. Two of Durran's men were still busy searching the place, though they had already found more than enough. He glanced to the right, where the body of the servant had been found, dead seemingly by his own hand. The boy had conveniently left a hastily scratched letter, giving a brief explanation and apology for what he had done. So much for the theory of him merely getting sick of the same thing that killed Joffrey.

  
  


Tyrion frowned. The servant had been a weapon, that much he didn't doubt. Being coerced by parties unknown in King's Landing, who were threatening his sister, who lived there, and worked in the Red Keep itself no less, well didn’t that have interesting implications? Tyrion had a pretty good idea who was behind Joffrey's untimely demise, however he had to appreciate the tale Durran was spinning. If he didn't know better, he would have believed it. Fuck, it was entirely possible that Arryn was murdered and that the kid had been pushed from that crumbling tower because he had seen something. The latter two accidents might have nothing to do with Durran.

  
  


In fact, he didn’t have any proof that his nephew was behind this, just a gut feeling and the fact that… Tyrion sighed. To be honest to himself, if he was Joffrey’s younger brother, he might be relieved if the little bastard went up and died, not to mention that said death would mean he would be the next King. There was a very obvious and logical explanation about how Durran reacted to his brother’s sickness and consequent death, which certainly didn’t mean he was involved in said death. On the other hand, the one who benefited most of the ordeal was Durran so there was that.

  
  


Tyrion shook his head and left the Stormlanders who paid him no mind and continued tearing down the place. Tyrion wanted to kick himself. He or someone else should have at least thought about the theory Durran was presenting for a fact. With all the backstabbing and intrigues inherent in the Game, it was all too plausible. Perhaps it was the location, the North where such things rarely happened. Or Eddard's reputation as the one truly honourable man in the all of the Seven Kingdoms. Seven Hells, he was getting jaded lately.

  
  


"Tyrion! Your presence has been requested." Someone shouted from behind.

  
  


He jumped up, startled and glared at the man who surprised him.

  
  


"Jamie, you should stop doing that."

  
  


"Why? It's still fun, brother. Now let's go."

  
  


"Where?"

  
  


"There is a meeting and Durran wants you to attend. Apparently he's heard from somewhere that you have a sharp mind and he wants to use it." Jamie looked at him speculatively.

  
  


"Really?" Let's hope my nephew won't suddenly decide that said brain will be more useful spilled on the ground, Tyrion mussed. But perhaps he was doing Durran a disservice. Something like that, it sounded like a thing Joffrey might do for fun.

  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


  
  


  
  


'Now, this is interesting.' Tyrion thought.

  
  


Jaime led him to a secluded room, which had only one entrance guarded by Stormlander and Lannister men. Inside he found the King sitting on the head of a table, with Durran at his right side and Lord Stark on the left. Ser Selmy was sitting next to their host and waved Tyrion to go sit next to his nephew.

  
  


"Uncle, it's good you could join us so promptly." Durran gave him a wan smile, which made his entrails freeze.

  
  


"Your, Majesty. Your Highness, My Lord, Ser Baristan..." Tyrion greeted in turn, declining to play the role of the fool. He felt that it might be even more hazardous to his health than whatever was happening.

  
  


"Sit down, Lannister. For some reason, my son believes that you can be useful." Robert glared at him.

  
  


Well fuck. Thank you very much, nephew. You are no longer my favourite among my sister's children.

  
  


"Are you up to speed?" Durran asked.

  
  


"I got the basics. Foul murder and treason." he shrugged.

  
  


"Damn straight!" the King growled.

  
  


Tyrion looked around. Eddard Stark appeared to be carved out of marble, though his icy eyes glowered with barely contained fury. The King was obviously pissed off and Ser Selmy had a grim expression on his face. Which left Durran. The youngest man in the room was calm and despite his tender age looked as if he belonged here.

  
  


"What have your men found, your highness?" Ser Selmy asked. If the famous knight was perturbed by the fact that the investigation of his charge's death was currently conducted solely by the men of the young royal, he didn't show it in any way.

  
  


"Ser Storm found one of Joffrey's pages dead in his room. It looks like poison." Duran then nodded at a parchment that laid on the table in front of his father. "That note was found with the body. He has been sick the last few days as well, now we know why.”

  
  


"What does it say?" Tyrion asked.

  
  


"It names no one in particular, but it appears that the page, one Roderic Kole, was blackmailed to poison my brother. His younger sisters had been taken from their home in King's Landing just before we left. Once it dawned on him what he had done, he got a sudden case of intelligence, comprehending that the girls were most likely dead as loose ends. So he wrote the note and ingested the rest of the poison, afraid that he will be tortured once we got our hands on him."

  
  


"Damn straight!" Robert growled.

  
  


Yep. Tyrion could see it happening. Once found out, the lad would have been made intimately familiar with all the fun and joys the interrogators could think off, no matter what he said or admitted. Not after being accused for murdering the Crown Prince.

  
  


"It doesn't say anything about Bran." Lord Stark muttered.

  
  


"Kole wasn't in Winterfell when that happened." Durran shrugged. "While it is possible that the lad's luck simply ran out, I understand that he is a spirited little climber," the Prince continued, "it is just as likely that he saw something in that tower that he shouldn't. If we are indeed dealing with a conspiracy here, as this note indicates, it is more than likely that there are other people involved. Until Bran awakens, we probably won't know any more."

  
  


"If he awakes." Robert muttered, earning himself a glare from his old friend.

  
  


"That said, what do we do to keep any more assassinations from happening?" Tyrion asked. He didn't mention that the set up presented by Durran's men was a bit convenient. It wasn't like he had any proof one way or the other. A hunch didn't count for much, especially when it could have been just his new found wariness of the young man speaking.

  
  


"When all is said and done, we don't know if anyone else currently in Winterfell is involved. It's not like we can send everyone in the dungeons and interrogate them." Durran shrugged.

  
  


"We of the Kingsguard will do our best, however defending against poison..." Ser Selmy trailed off.

  
  


There were only seven of them. No matter how good knights they were, they couldn't be everywhere. It wasn't like just tasting anything that their charges might eat or drink would help. There were slow acting poisons after all.

  
  


"In any rate we need to tighten up security. It's not a  given that the next murder  attempt  will be with poison." Ser Baristan added.

  
  


"Watching how the food and drinks are prepared..." Tyrion muttered aloud.

  
  


"Splendid idea. Besides it would be prudent to make sure that the folks making our meals are reasonably trustworthy." Durran added, smiling at Tyrion.

  
  


"That might help. All this talk of poison is killing my appetite!" Robert grumbled.

  
  


Tyrion was surprised that everyone was able to keep their thoughts at the notion to themselves. Barely if the glint in Durran's eyes was anything to go by.

  
  


"That said, steps must be taken to secure the realm as a whole." the Prince added. "Father, you, Lords Stark and Arryn made a precedent when you took down that fire worshiping madman. One that now might be biting us all in the arses."

  
  


Eddard frowned. "What do you mean, your Highness?"

  
  


"You showed for all to see that the Iron Throne could be taken and held by the strength of arms, no flying, fire-breathing lizards needed. Now, I might be mistaken, but add a few assassinations, some political manoeuvring and through the resulting strife the Throne becomes a tempting, vulnerable target once again. When I thought about what happened, those murders might have nothing to do with someone hating our Houses. It might be simply the obvious, an opening gambit for the Throne."

  
  


Tyrion raised an eyebrow at that. He was almost expecting that Durran would have simply thrown the blame at either the Dornish or some of the other known players who had an axe to grind with the Royal house and its closest allies. The worst thing was that he could see it all playing like a mummer's farce. First remove the Hand of the King, the man who had been actually running the realm ever since Robert ascended to the throne. Then take out the Crown Prince, messing up the betrothal with the Starks as a side effect, not to mention the succession of the Stormlands, thus causing further strife within House Baratheon. As a consequence, now the Realm had the second son as an heir presumptive, a youngster who had been mostly out of the public's eye until recently. The odds were that this plan has been put in motion long before the Wildfire Plot, before Durran proved himself surprisingly competent, lad, perhaps a very dangerous one as well. Ironically, that fact would make Durran more of a target if he wasn’t the one stirring the pot. After all, he was apparently the competent Prince, one who would be much harder to manipulate than either Joffrey or young Tommen. Hells, even if Durran was the one to set this in motion, then he had made himself a large target anyway!

  
  


Now, if something happened to Eddard Stark and Robert… Tyrion's thoughts trailed off. It could be a recipe for disaster. Another civil war in the making, especially if people suspected the real parentage of the Royal children...

  
  


"We need to curtail any ambitions about taking the Throne from our House..." Durran mussed aloud.

  
  


"Once you are married that will help." Robert said.

  
  


"Indeed. However not to one of Lord Stark's daughters. No offense meant, my Lord." Durran hastily added the last sentence.

  
  


"Nonsense! It's arranged." Robed glared at his son.

  
  


"And makes not a lick of sense considering our current situation." Durran stood his ground and glared back.

  
  


"What is your thinking on the subject, your Highness?" Eddard asked calmly.

  
  


"The North is simply too far away to help in time if anything unpleasant happens in King's Landing. Besides, our Houses have been friends for some time. While you two are in charge, I see no short term problems. If a more formal arrangement is needed, I do have two younger siblings. My marriage," he shrugged, "must secure the south. The Tyrells might be the best match. Marrying in their House would secure the realm for a lot of reasons."

  
  


"NO! Those dragon loving bastards..." The King started ranting.

  
  


"Precisely. It is high time we bind them to the dynasty and deal with that problem." Durran pointed out.

  
  


Robert stared at his son as if he had grown a second head.

  
  


Tyrion couldn't help but did so too. It was audacious… and made so much sense.

  
  


"Such a marriage would bind four of the Seven Kingdoms together, making another civil war all but impossible, especially if my brother or sister marries into the Starks. Five if you count the Riverlands thanks to their ties with the North. The Dornish and those pirates on the Iron isles would be impotent to do anything, and it won't really matter what Lord Arryn's widow decides to do."

  
  


Tyrion wondered how the conversation went from discussing murder to arranging advantageous marriages. It figures. Politics.

  
  


Tyrion contemplated getting as much gold and valuables as possible and going to an extended vacation in Essos. He's heard very good things about the brothels there.

  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**Part 4**

  
  


**= A Faceless Man =**

  
  


**Khal Drogo’s wedding**

**Essos**

  
  


The festives around him were what he expected. An orgy of drunkenness and sex, which was as often as not consensual. He plastered a smile on his new face and strode through the crowds like a man seeking his own entertainment for the night. The Khal had taken his new bride to mount her for the first time and his horde had broken up, celebrating the occasion. There were more than a few murders already, a good omen or so the local barbarians believed. After all, it was supposedly a bad thing if no one got killed during a Khal’s wedding – it meant that his Khalazar wasn’t made up of fierce enough warriors...

  
  


The sheer madness gripped the huge camp strewn below the walls of Pentos, just as expected and accounted for. The assassin slipped in a shadow near the Khal's tent, looked around to confirm that no one was looking at him and changed his face to that of the Khal, a feat only possible after studying the man for most of the day while posing as one of the Dothraki he had disposed off earlier.

  
  


The Faceless man plastered a satisfied leer on his face and headed toward the Khal's tent with a sure gait. His whole being radiated confidence as if he owned the place.

  
  


The whole charade hinged on three carefully considered points. The assassin was one of the biggest men in his organization, with a body that could easily pass for one of the Dothraki, at least in size. Second, he was an accomplished warrior, so he had more than a good chance to win a fair fight with one of the horde members, something that proved useful on more than one occasion during that long day.

  
  


And third, he knew the language and customs just as well as if he was one of the Dothraki. After all, twenty years ago, he used to be one of them until the horde he belonged to was destroyed by a rival and he ended sold into slavery. Then the assassin got lucky and the gallery transporting him was taken down by Braavosi vessel and he was rescued before ending as a charge of the Many Faced God temple.

  
  


The rest as some say, was history.

  
  


He nodded at the bored looking guards at the entrance of his tent and got in. A genuine smile appeared on his face. No matter how well trained he was, he still remembered a bit of his past. So the opportunity to screw over a rival Khalazar even in this small manner, warmed his heart.

  
  


The Faceless man looked around. It wasn't hard to notice the ornate chest containing the dragon eggs. According to his contract he needed to get away at least with one of them. He briefly considered trying to get more out, but that would have been suspicious and harder. When all was said and done, he was doing this for the money and the Two Faced God, not the challenge. He was already balancing on a thin line by allowing his past life to influence him in any way. The assassin grabbed one egg and hastily covered it with an expensive rug. Then he grabbed a fresh wine-skin too and made his way out.

  
  


"My Khal!" One of Drogo's friends stumbled in the assassin's way. "Where's your young filly? Why aren't you still mounting her?" he made a suggestive motion with his hips.

  
  


The Faceless man smirked. "I exhausted her." he smirked and waved the wine-skin. "She needs something to perk her up."

  
  


Apparently that was the right thing to say because those who heard him howled with laughter. No one commented on the rug he was carrying, probably assuming that it was for the Daenerys girl too.

  
  


He slipped in the shadows on the way to the nearby beach where Drogo and his wife were consuming their marriage and made his way towards one of the planned extraction points. A boat waited a few leagues away, ready to take him to a Westerosi ship which was anchored just below the horizon from their location.

  
  


On the way to the rendezvous, the Assassin wondered if it would be as easy if their employer wanted either the Khal, his wife or perhaps both, dead. In that case, poison, perhaps a slow acting one, might be for the best.

  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**= Robert =**

  
  


**Meeting room**

**Winterfell**

  
  


  
  


  
  


Robert Baratheon, the supposed absolute ruler of the Seven Kingdoms carefully studied his oldest still living child, ignoring the other people in the room. In the last couple of months, Durran had changed. While before he had been unremarkable, content with his lot and the position he was to inherit as the future Warden of the Stormlands, the youngster had finally began to prove himself, and in spectacular fashion too. The way he tore into the Kingslayer over the wildfire fiasco, the fury gripping him then and there, that was pure Baratheon! Only if his looks have been true as well, then all would have been right in the world.

  
  


The way Durran carried himself two months ago, the bravery he demonstrated by demanding to not only remain in the capital but be one of the people to remove the wildfire, at least out of the Red Keep… Robert smiled. That had been one of the few times he had genuinely felt proud of one of his children. While Tommen was a good lad by all accounts, he was simply too soft and all he cared about was his cats. Myrcella, while she was a sweet girl, she was just a little southern lady, nothing like the she-wolf she would have been if Lyanna had lived to be the mother of his children.

  
  


Joffrey… the less said about that boy, the better. He had been Robert’s eldest son and a constant source of disappointment. The King wasn’t proud of this; however he couldn’t help himself but feel at least a bit relieved that Joffrey was dead and now he had a worthy successor.

  
  


He had been keeping an eye on Durran for the past two months, spoken with him during the long trek to Winterfell. Robert still wasn’t sure what made the lad step up and embrace his birthright in such a way, and to be honest, he didn’t care.

  
  


For weeks now, people observed Durran reading about and discussing all kinds of topics, from politics and all that was necessary to run one of the realms, to pursuits better suited for fucking Maesters. Which had caught Robert's eye in the rare moments when he allowed himself not to be drunk. Those few occasions had only reinforced his regrets that Joffrey, the waste of space had been the eldest son, so the heir of the throne, a regret he no longer felt.

  
  


For a rare instant, Robert decided that there was no point to lying to himself. When that little shit, who appeared to lack a single drop of Baratheon blood in him got sick and died a few days ago, Robert was actually relieved, full stop. In his sober moments, he had wondered if his spawn would try rivaling that Targ cunt in the running for the worst King ever since the Conquest. At least Joffrey had the good grace to do one thing right and remove himself from everyone’s misery.

  
  


The King suppressed a shudder. He keenly remembered the first time he was made aware what kind of a son he had as an heir to the throne. Joffrey had been a snot-nosed brat of nine summers, when he had proudly presented Robert with a "gift". A cat's spawn, cut off from her belly. That accursed boy had been grinning like a madman, expecting a pat on the back.

  
  


Even to this day, Robert didn't know how he kept himself from striking Joffrey down on the spot. He had known it then, that there was something wrong with the boy. He just preferred to drown his sorrows in wine and women so he could forget all about it.

  
  


The King shook his burly head. Good riddance.

  
  


Now he had to deal with his second eldest son… who was already giving him a headache, thankfully from a very different kind. All things considered, Robert was starting to wonder what the hell possessed him to take the Throne in the first place. He should have swindled either Ned or Jon to take it and went to Essos to live his life in as he was meant to – breaking heads and bedding busty wenches.

  
  


Instead, he was stuck with a wife who hated his guts, something that had become mutual during the years of their miserable marriage, and an awful, uncomfortable throne. Spiky too, with more than enough places to cut yourself if you didn't pay attention. Oh, yes. You had to deal with politics all day long on the rare occasions when you couldn't push all that heap of bullshit on your Hand.

  
  


Now this. Robert had to deal with conspiracies and murders, instead of drinking his day off and getting laid. Which reminded him! He had to do something appropriate to Durran for having the gall to cock-block him of all people! You didn’t just come in and cock-block you king even if you were his favorite son!

  
  


But first they had to decide what to do with whoever was responsible for Jon's murder. Oh, he would congratulate the bastards for ridding him of Joffrey just before he bashed their heads in, or leaving them to Ned and that giant two-hander of his. That sword was excellent for splitting guts and cutting off heads!

  
  


Ned returned Robert to the present with a loud clearing of his throat.

  
  


"What's your call, Robert?" His new Hand asked.

  
  


"Run that by me again." he grunted. Perhaps he should have paid more attention?

  
  


Ned gave him a long suffered look, then his expression returned to its usual imitation of ice mask.

  
  


"About clearing up and securing King's Landing."

  
  


"The Gold Cloaks are less than useful." Ser Barristan added.

  
  


"I can attest to that. I wanted to see if the rumors are true and had one of my people bribe them." Durran shrugged. "For few dozen dragons he has a free run on two of the City gates. With a bit of gold anyone and anything could be smuggled in without any trouble whatsoever."

  
  


"Someone will have to deal with that." Robert gave his old friend a pointed look.

  
  


Ned opened his mouth to answer when Durran interrupted him.

  
  


"I would like to volunteer. It will be a nice trial run for the future. I can't be expected to one day run the whole kingdom if I can't deal with a bunch of corrupt city guards."

  
  


"He actually has a point." Jaime quipped. "Though you should be careful nephew. They will likely disagree to being made into upstanding citizens. You might end up skewered."

  
  


Robert glared at his brother in law. No one was going to poke holes into his one competent son, damn it!

  
  


"You might have a point, uncle." Durran grinned at the Lannister. "I'll request that you'll be the Kingsguard assigned to keep me in one piece. It shouldn't be too hard for an accomplished swordsman like yourself." he paused for effect. "Unless you are loosing your edge?"

  
  


The King laughed out loud at that quip. Serves golden boy right!

  
  


"That's actually a good idea." Ser Barristan nodded sagely. "We failed one Prince. There won't fail a second time, Your Highness. He stared at Robert's son. "You won't be going anywhere without at least two knights keeping an eye on you."

  
  


Durran looked affronted. "Even when I'm getting laid?" he asked, making Jaime chuckle.

  
  


Actually that was a good idea. The vengeance would be his!

  
  


"That won't be an issue, Durran." Robert beamed at his son. "You won't be getting laid again until you are married. There are consequences for cock-blocking your King, you know."

  
  


Jaime started laughing like a maniac. "That's priceless!" he managed to mutter.

  
  


"Neither are you, Lannister. I haven't forgotten that you let him in!" Robert smirked.

  
  


"I’m not getting laid anyway." Jaime shrugged cockily.

  
  


"Well, uncle, I’m sure we’ll find you an appropriate punishment that will last until I'm married, right?" Durran smirked at his uncle before looking expectantly at Robert who chuckled.

  
  


"Ahem. Let's go back to the reason for this meeting." Ned had to be a spoilsport.

  
  


"What?! Those two interrupted me while I was about to get laid! It's important!" The King tried to defend himself.

  
  


Ned glared at his liege Lord and Robert deflated. Why did he have to always say the wrong thing and piss off his best friend?

  
  


"Fine, fine! So who do we suspect?"

  
  


Eloquent silence answered him.

  
  


"Well, grandfather probably didn't have anything to do with it. Probably." Durran shrugged, though he didn’t sound too convinced.

  
  


"We can probably exclude Jon's wife too." Robert added.

  
  


More eloquent silence followed.

  
  


"That's it?!" Robert exclaimed.

  
  


"We are talking about that bloody uncomfortable looking, spiky abomination that you sit on from time to time." Durran japed. "For some reason most High Nobles in the realm crave it and would either sell or risk their children getting killed for it without a second thought for a chance to claim it. The list of people who have motives to cause strife, weaken the dynasty and take advantage of it is very long indeed.” His son scowled in frustration.

  
  


Robert was tempted to shout that they could have the bloody thing and storm out of the room, but a sudden case of common sense stopped him. His one true friend in King's Landing had been murdered over that thing. His best friend, Ned had almost lost a son, and still might because of it. He would see everyone responsible hang for this!

  
  


"How do we smoke them out?" Robert demanded.

  
  


"We'll need to have a chat with your Master of Whispers, Robert. It’s his bloody job to know of such things. So he's either incompetent or involved in some form." Ned wisely pointed out.

  
  


"In that case we will need agents of our own in King's Landing. Men who aren't easily recognized as our supporters." Durran added.

  
  


"How do we do that? Ned here is too honorable to have such folks around, and I don't have skulking in the shadows, backstabbing bastards on call. Though such would be mighty useful right now."

  
  


"I do have a few." Durran muttered. "Besides, I'm sure that uncle Tyrion knows the correct lowlifes." he looked at the dwarf.

  
  


Huh. Robert had almost forgotten that the half-man was present. He looked at the youngest Lannister, who appeared to be the center of attention.

  
  


"Thank you very much, nephew." Tyrion muttered darkly.

  
  


Durran cheerfully waved at him.

  
  


"As it happens, I'm indeed familiar with the type. Though making sure that they will remain bought might be an issue." Tyrion hedged.

  
  


"I have just the man for the job." Durran grinned like a shark.

  
  


Robert wondered where he had gone wrong with his children. He had to check on Tommen and Myrcella. One of them just might be a proper Baratheon. All this slick plotting, it was all Lannister, Gods damn it!

  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**= Cersei =**

  
  


**Sept**

**Winterfell**

  
  


  
  


  
  


The Queen seethed. She stared at the linen wrapped bundle that was the body of her eldest child. Her beautiful Lannister prince, taken away from her long before his time. Fear and fury fought for dominance within her heart.

  
  


It was all Robert's fault! If he hadn't all but ordered Cersei and her children to come to this gods forsaken place, her dear Joff would be alive! Instead he had to come to the never sufficiently damned North to get sick and choke on his own blood! Damn Robert and his friend! She shook with anger. It was all their fault and she would make them pay! One way or another!

  
  


Robert, that animal! He had to go first, then that miserable wolf!

  
  


Cersei straightened up, her eyes gleaming madly in the darkness. She was busy plotting a King's downfall.

  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**= Durran =**

  
  


**Meeting Room**

**Winterfell**

  
  


  
  


  
  


"With that out of the way, let's talk marriage arrangements." I said after it was decided that Tyrion and myself will be responsible for straightening up the Gold Cloaks and building a spy network as an alternative to the "little birds" employed by Varys.

  
  


"You made your point!" Robert grumbled. "Ned, what do you think about it?"

  
  


Well, Lord Stark, the ball is in your court.

  
  


Eddard leaned back in his chair. "He is right. The North is simply too far away to provide timely assistance if you need my swords. I will always have your back, Robert, but that means little if I can't get my men to the South in time. While it will be great if our Houses unite, as it was meant to be, it might be in the best interest of the Realm if Prince Durran seeks a marriage closer to the Crownlands."

  
  


"Which means either The Tyrells, Dorne or the Vale." Ser Barristan added.

  
  


"I'm glad that no one mentioned the Iron Islands." I muttered.

  
  


"No pirate brides for you, boy. I don't want to give you ideas!" Robert grumbled.

  
  


I gave him an innocent smile, but he apparently didn't buy it if his snort was any indication.

  
  


"Send ravens to all of them. Both the Tyrells and Dorne have High Born Ladies of the right age and standing, while there are certainly Noble daughters who might fit the bill in the Vale. That way they will have high ranking members of their Houses in King's Landing for us to watch. If any of them is involved, someone might slip giving us a clue. Besides, it won't hurt for all of them to clearly see that they aren't the only choice. It will make negotiations much easier." Tyrion demonstrated that devious brain of his.

  
  


"That's actually a decent idea." Robert nodded. "Make it so!"

  
  


"You are the King, father. Those letters must come from you or your Hand." I chuckled good maturely.

  
  


"Spoilsport. Ned, are you taking the bloody job or not?"

  
  


Eddard thought for a moment and nodded gravely.

  
  


Son of a bitch, that just made my life that much harder.

  
  


"Splendid! We'll have to drink for that! Now, who of my youngest do you want to marry in your house?" Robert beamed.

  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**Part 5**

  
  


**= Oberyn Martell=**

  
  


**Tower of the Sun**

**Sunspear**

**Dorne**

  
  


  
  


  
  


The last couple of months were hard for the Red Viper. The realization that barring a miracle, the odds of his precious sister and her children surviving the Usurper’s rebellion were slim to none thanks to that prick Aerys, stung.  All he had  wanted to do was to  bury himself in increasingly vicious training, wine and whores...  which he did for four days  straight before , E l laria and his three eldest daughters finally had it with his shenanigans and dragged him back to Sunspear so sober up and clear up his head. Once that was done, he had thrown himself headfirst i n fulfilling his brother’s orders,  and went for a short visit to Essos to try and figure out if Viserys was as mad as his father or getting there. It was concerning that the rumours he heard about the boy contradicted what their agents were reporting… It seemed that the young dragon was very much his father’s son indeed. Once Oberyn was certain of it, he wrote his brother, recruited some hopefully more reliable agents and made his way back to Sunspear with haste.

  
  


"Brother! You shouted and here am I!" Oberyn exclaimed loudly, riling up his older brother the moment he swaggered into the throne room.

  
  


Doran didn't take the bait and instead continued reading from a parchment which he was holding. Oberyn’s nephews sat on comfortable chairs nearby and Arianne wasted no time in taking her place between the two younger lads and her father.

  
  


The older man raised up his head and smiled mischievously.

  
  


"Do you know what am I holding, Oberyn?"

  
  


The younger Martell shrugged. He hadn't been doing anything that could be considered troublesome lately, Honest! Just a bit  of drinking and getting laid, with the later taking most of his  sparse free time…  and until he boarded the ship that brought him back, all that happened all the way across the sea too! B esides,  E l laria h ad decided he needed adult supervision and hadn’t left him out of her sight unless she absolutely had to ever since news about the Wildfire Plot reached Sunspear  so he did behave… kind of anyway.

  
  


"It's a request. From the King." Doran e xplained.

  
  


Oberyn's good cheer at being back and seeing his family died sudden and unexpected death. A snarl appeared on his face. "What that bastard of a stag wants this time?"

  
  


"A future queen for his son."

  
  


"Joffrey?! That little waste wouldn't know what to do with a Dornish woman even with written instructions and a guide." Then he grinned viciously. "Though this might be an opportunity to get our pound of flesh."

  
  


"You don't know the half of it. First Joffrey is dead." Doran actually smirked.

  
  


"Ah. A stag gone! It couldn't have happened to a better person. Dare I hope that it was painful and embarrassing?" Oberyn grinned. That said, it was curious that his brother learned about it before he did. Or perhaps Doran recalled him for a different reason and this was merely a fortunate coincidence?

  
  


"He apparently got sick in the North and wasted away within a few days." Doran explained.

  
  


"Eh. Good enough. So Prince Durran." Oberyn paused. "I actually don't know much about him and I certainly don’t believe the tall tales b eing told about him.”

  
  


"You'll have an opportunity to meet him. I'll be sending you as my representative. Apparently he'll be choosing a bride between us, the Tyrells and some Lords daughters from the Vale."

  
  


"So the Stags do have a bit of brains left. Such a marriage will cement their dynasty on the throne, which isn't good if we are to get our vengeance."

  
  


"About that..." Doran's smile grew. "It was implied that when our representatives arrive, we'll be getting a 'gift'. A certain mountain was mentioned."

  
  


Oberyn's eyes lit up with unholy light and speculation. "How interesting…"

  
  


“If it happens, good. If not, we’ll get our pound of flesh later.” Doran leaned forward. “It has been a long time since we last had official representative in the Red Keep, and to a lesser extent King’s Landing. The sack and resulting chaos was hard on our agents, and we both know what happened to those in the Keep itself.”

  
  


“Varys.” Oberyn nodded sharply, distaste evident on his face.

  
  


“I need you to rein in your hot blood brother; I need you to be my eyes and ears in the capital. You’ll have access to my agents there, make sure that we have enough loyal people both in the Red Keep and King’s Landing. They will come in useful when it is finally time to strike. That said, this isn’t the reason I recalled you. I’ve kept my plans very close to my chest and now...” Doran grimaced. “A lot of them are made useless because of the Mad King’s final insanity and the news you brought about Viserys. Let me tell you how I planned to get vengeance upon the Lions and the Stags, and ensure the future of our house…”

  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**= A Queen of Thorns =**

  
  


**Highgarden**

**The Reach**

  
  


  
  


  
  


Lady Ollena Redwyne traced the letter's edge with a gaunt, thin finger. Her son and granddaughter were in attendance, waiting for her to speak.

  
  


"This is all we ever wanted." she said gruffly.

  
  


Mace beamed, nodding. He had his usual foolish grin plastered all over his face. If Ollena didn’t know better, she would be wondering if that boy was truly hers.

  
  


"I'll make an educated guess, grandma. This," Margaery's slender fingers pointed at the letter, "is the newest marriage proposal for my hand. One, you approve of for a change. So I'm going to be bargained for what exactly?" there was no bite in Margaery's calm voice. The girl had a good head on her shoulders and knew that it was inevitable.

  
  


At least she could be sure that her grandmother would do the best by her.

  
  


"How would you like to be a Queen, dear?" Ollena smiled at her granddaughter.

  
  


For a split second, Margaery's eyes widened, before she schooled her expression back to a calm mask. "That's certainly new. So Joffrey then?" There was no eagerness in her voice as she spoke. It was no surprise, the rumours they heard about that particular Prince didn’t paint a pretty picture.

  
  


Ollena smirked.

  
  


"Oh, no. You actually got lucky, it's Durran. Our dear Crown prince got sick and died the poor boy." Ollena shook her head sadly. It would have convinced most people, but her granddaughter knew her too well.

  
  


Margaery’s face actually lit up at that news and blushed like the young maiden she was.

  
  


“A gallant Prince, a hero already, and one you’re actually fond of.” Ollena nodded to herself. “This couldn’t be a better if we arranged it ourselves.”

  
  


The fact that Joffrey was gone, had its good and bad sides, true. As far as her grandson Loras, who was in the Capital as well as various other Tyrell agents had reported, that boy had been a monster in the making. On the bright side, he wasn't the sharpest sword in the bin and thus much easier to manipulate. Durran, the new Crown Prince on the other hand, well he was another breed of animal. Until recently, he had been laying low, apparently content with his position as an heir presumptive of the Stormlands, something only possible due to Renly Baratheon’s indiscretion.

  
  


Ollena hid a grimace. At least the King’s youngest brother had the good sense not to be caught in bed with Loras. While the affair has been hushed with almost no rumors leaving the capital, it was much harder to keep it from Renly’s squire, who did inform his grandmother at the first opportunity. It helped that Ollena was aware of Loras’ preferences and didn’t care as long as he did his duty for his family. The Stormlords on the other hand, if this went public, they would care very much, those brutes were conservative like that, which immediately eliminated Renly as a potential claimant for Storm’s End. That only left Stannis and the King’s own children, and almost no one liked Stannis, including his own brother.

  
  


She shook off those thoughts.

  
  


"Margaery, my dear, you will have to be at your best, when you arrive in King's Landing. You will have some competition for Durran's hand."

  
  


"Am, I?" her granddaughter perked up and her eyes glinted dangerously. Obviously she was ready to accept the challenge, whatever it might be.

  
  


"Yes, similar letters were sent to Dorne and the Vale. It's obviously a plot to make the negotiations easier for the Baratheons, showing all of us that we aren't the only choice." Ollena grinned like the cat that got the canary. "However, we all know that those other realms don't hold a candle to what we can offer." she waved at her granddaughter. "Beautiful and a smart bride," she winked at Margaery, "all of your swords," a nod to her son, "and the Reach's bounty." The last indicated their status of the Seven Kingdoms breadbasket and all the money and prosperity that came with it. “Not to mention that you my dear, actually know Durran and are on friendly terms with him.”

  
  


Ollena paused and gave a heavy, pointed look to her son and granddaughter.

  
  


"This is perhaps the greatest single opportunity any of us will get in our lifetimes." She glared at her son. "Don't fuck it up, Mace, and for the gods’ sake make a good deal!" she paused and took a deep breath. "On a second thought, I'll be coming with you. This will prove too fun to miss."

  
  


Ollena watched in amusement as Mace's expression fell.

  
  


“We all know that our position in the Reach isn’t as secure as those of our counterparts. Only the Trouts have as tenuous a grasp over their realm as we do.” Ollena continued, all traces of good humor leaving her face and voice. “It was the Dragons who put us as the leading House in the Reach, it was because of their support we retained our place for three centuries. Without a connection and support to the Crown, our position is tenuous. With the Crown hostile as it has been these past years, we are in more danger than ever.” Ollena paused so her oaf of a son could digest what she was trying to tell him. “Margaery, dear, you’ll need to do your absolutely best once we’re in King’s Landing. We need you to be a Queen, for your children and grandchildren to hold the Iron Throne – that is the only way for us to continue growing strong.”

  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

  
  


  
  


  
  


Lord Baelish re-read the letter, which was a copy sent by Lisa. He frowned. Joffrey was dead; all the effort he'd made into getting closer to the foolish boy was now for naught. He slumped in his comfortable chair. Now Durran was the Heir presumptive. Baelish had tried to get under his skin, but so far the boy staunchly rebuffed him. The best he'd managed to do to get an in with the younger Prince was help finance one of his schemes, which were admittedly rather profitable. In fact, once Durran was back, he would be arranging a meeting in order to invest further into the Prince's innovations.

  
  


That printing press of his was already making significant profit, almost enough to make him green with envy. While a few of Baelish's agents had found a way to reproduce that invention, they still had trouble getting their hands on enough paper to make any good use of the invention. Petyr frowned. The security of that part of Durran's operations was tight and his people were unable to breach it. So far, anyway. Given enough time and money, Baelish would have that secret, thought it might be actually cheaper to simply buy it from Durran. That was one of the points he would be raising in their next meeting. Besides, he had to make himself close, preferably indispensable to the future king. You never knew when Robert might suffer a riding accident or something.

  
  


Baelish looked back at the letter. Soon enough life in King's Landing would become even more interesting, with parties arriving to seek a marriage in the Royal house. It was up to him to ensure a favorable outcome of that mess, which preferably meant even more chaos, preferably even a war, something the Realm was ripe for.

  
  


Unfortunately, now he had to alter his plans. The original idea called for discrediting the North and taking out that bastard Eddard, so he could finally get his Cat. Now Baelish would have to improvise a bit. With the way Durran has been acting lately, he would be hard pressed to convince more people that the lad and his siblings were all bastards born from incest. On that front, he knew Stannis was convinced of the truth and was why he had fled to Dragonstone at the first possible opportunity after the King left for the North.

  
  


On the other hand, Renly was still in King’s Landing and it was no secret he wasn’t exactly thrilled with losing the possibility of ruling over Storm’s End. Perhaps the younger Baratheon could be an ally, he was technically the Regent of the Stormlands and with Durran the Crown Prince, and there was a power vacuum to be exploited. Either Renly or Stannis could be useful tools to ignite a war with, though they would need the support of the Stormlands to begin with. Ideally that of the reach as well, though that was now impossible – a marriage to the Tyrell girl would bind them to the Crown… or perhaps not. There were always the Tarly’s and Hightowers who would be eager to dislodge their thorny lords and masters from Highgarden…

  
  


It wasn’t all bad.

  
  


Just as expected, the Stark was to be the Hand of the King. With a bit of careful manipulation, the Lord of Coin could ensure that Eddard got certain sensitive information at the right time, setting him on a clash course with the Queen and the Lannisters, just as the original plan called for. However, that hanged on specific circumstances. Namely Robert, dead, most likely with Cersei herself commissioning the deed itself, so it must appear. That was something he could easily set in motion himself. After that things would become complicated. Baelish was sure that he could have managed Joffrey. Durran however, especially as a newly minted King, would be a wild card that needed careful study.

  
  


On the other hand, he could always engineer an accident for the boy, especially if he proved to be resistant to his advances.

  
  


What to do…

  
  


  
  


  
  


**=Sith=**

  
  


**= Marrek =**

  
  


**Royal Camping site**

**Near the King's road**

**The North**

  
  


  
  


  
  


Ser Marrek Storm, sat down near the fire, where his Prince and Tyrion Lannister were breaking bread. They were in a small clearing a bit off the main camping place of the Royal procession. There were ten of his men in the woods around them, giving them some privacy from unfriendly ears.

  
  


"My Lords," Marrek greeted.

  
  


"Cut that crap, my friend." Durran quipped after swallowing a bite form what he called a sandwich – bread covered with butter, cheese and meat.

  
  


"Fine. Be that way, Durran." Storm smirked. He felt a tingle of warmth spreading through his heart from that little reminder. Marrek was the bastard son of a minor Stormlord, and here he was, having a dinner with the Crown prince, a man who didn't care for his parentage. Not only that, but the Baratheon scion considered him one of his closest friends. Where other highborn treated him with cold formality or barely hidden disdain, Durran accepted him for who he was and acted as he if Storm was a close family member.

  
  


That was something that Marrek didn't think possible, before meeting the Prince. He smirked. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, his Liege Lord apparently specialized in doing the unlikely and impossible.

  
  


On the other side of the fire, Tyrion took a swing from a plain copper cup, a piece of the server ware Durran insisted on using when there weren't people around who might be offended by it. He had explained that using copper as well as boiling them often and drinking either boiled water or some kind of alcohol were great at preventing diseases.

  
  


At first, Marrek had thought that it as simply another peculiarity of his Lord, but he had to admit that ever since he has been following Durran's "recommendations", Storm had felt a bit healthier. That said, it was often hard to find a way to wash your hands with warm water and soap or a bit of alcohol before eating. He shrugged. One day he would convince Durran to tell him where he was getting all those ideas from. It certainly wasn’t the library at Storm’s End, even though both of them spent a lot of time there. This wasn't the time to press the issue, though he had to admit of being curious about his Liege’s ideas.

  
  


"Take a bite to eat. We were just discussing our overall plan for King's Landing." Durran's voice interrupted his trail of thought.

  
  


"No need to invite me twice." Marrek said and cut himself a piece of the game roasting on a split over the fire. "Where were you?"

  
  


"The main problem. Actually building a spy network that won't sell us to the highest bidder." Tyrion muttered darkly. "My acquaintances will do a reasonably good job in the short term, but if we want something that will persist..." he shrugged.

  
  


"We need actual professionals, not the rabble that are usually used for the job." Durran interjected.

  
  


Marrek agreed with the notion. He had to admit that at first, his Prince's ideas seemed outlandish, but the way he had transformed his small cadre of guards from the usual bunch of bannermen into what he termed professional soldiers was nothing short of amazing and he did it in less than a month!

  
  


Professionalism, was something that Durran expected from all his subordinates. And awarded very well indeed. Which would be a bit of a snag in this particular case. How do you find "professional" spies you could trust? If such a thing even existed in the first place.

  
  


"Well, long term we'll have to train them ourselves. There are a lot of orphans running around King's Landing who will be grateful for a chance of improving their lives. Hells, working for us, even as spies probably will be an improvement. Though that doesn't help our short to mid term." Durran shrugged.

  
  


As a bastard, who if had gotten unlucky might have ended as one of those kids, Storm approved. After all fortune was a fickle bitch.

  
  


"Yeah, your ordinary cutthroat wouldn't fare well against the Master of Whispers agents."

  
  


"That's an idea." Durran smirked.

  
  


In that way. Yeah, that. Someone was going to be in serious trouble.

  
  


Tyrion stared at his Prince. Took another gulp of his wine. "What? You think you can just go in and ask Varys for his assistance? For all we know, he is a part of the problem."

  
  


If Marrek knew Durran at all, that was his plan or at least part of it.

  
  


"Well, I'll ask real nice." The smile on Marrek's Liege sent chills down his spine. It promised pain and suffering. Storm wondered what Varys had done to offend him this much.

  
  


"Let's table that discussion for now. The Gold Cloaks. I'll need the two of you to ferret out all the corrupt bastards in their ranks. I need people who I can trust after we are done cleaning up that particular rat’s nest."

  
  


"It will be done. How much do you plan to expand them?"

  
  


"About ten thousand or so. Six thousand pikemen and the rest with crossbows. It will do for now." Durran explained.

  
  


Marrek nodded. He knew about the gunpowder and when Durran explained its potential use, his mind was blown away. Once it was produced in significant quantities, it was going to change the way warfare worked. Until then, ten thousand professional killers should be able to keep King’s Landing secure.

  
  


Tyrion whistled. "That's a lot of men. Wages, arms and armor. How are you going to pay for all of that?"

  
  


"Heh. That's actually one of my lesser expenses. What I would want from my businesses is to make enough coin to not only pay the Royal debts but refill the coffers afterward."

  
  


"The treasury?" Tyrion asked carefully.

  
  


"It appears to be rather empty. As in few millions of debt to my grandfather and the Iron Bank."

  
  


"Well, fuck. We'll need to look in our esteemed Lord of Coin too, then."

  
  


"Oh, we will, I can assure you of that."

  
  



	5. Chapter 5: Welcome to the game

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.**

**Chapter 5: Welcome to the game**

**=Sith=**

**Part 1: We have a throne for sale**

**=Sith=**

**Small Council Chambers**

**Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

**The Crownlands**

I should have known better, really. This is Westeros, so it was a given that for anything good that happens, at least one thing had to go sideways; if you were very, very lucky.

First, Joffrey was very, very dead, which was obviously a very good thing, duh. Second, for more than a month now I had my connection to the Force back, even if it gave me less energy to work with than your average youngling who had just taken the first steps on the way of the Padawan. And third, there were no more accidents or “accidents” that I was aware of. No murdered wolves, no assassins going after little boys and acting as a trigger to spark a war in the future, just a rather boring trip back south.

I should have been happy to get back into my own bed in the Red Keep last night, just as I should have been during the trip to King’s Landing. Instead, I spent all that time, training, plotting and wondering what was going to bite me in the arse, because it was now painfully obvious that I didn’t have just politics and undead invasion to deal with. The dagger secured on my belt, complete with ancient Sith runes etched on the blade pointed in that direction. Still, it wasn’t like I could do much on that front for the time being so I shook my head, and focused on the here and now – figuring out what happened in King’s Landing during our absence, which meant dealing with feudal politics. Joy. Those were more frustrating to deal with than many of their more modern iterations I had to deal with in the past.

It was early in the morning and I was the first to arrive in the Small Council chamber after diverting to the kitchens for a breakfast. The large-ish chamber hadn’t really changed since the last council meeting that happened the evening before we left for Winterfell.

A few minutes after I planted my backside on the chair to the right of that reserved for Robert, a Spider and Mockingbird crawled through the door. For some arcane reasons, both of them seemed briefly surprised to notice my presence though they hid it very well. Did they really expect that I would have grown bored from the Council meetings and would leave them without adult supervision now that I was back in the capital?

“My Lords.” I greeted and plastered a fake smile on my face.

Littlefinger, the fucking traitor, greeted me jovially. Little did he know that I would have his head the moment I could find any credible evidence that would allow me to dispose of him lawfully or find a fool-proof way to off him without it being traced back to me. The same was true for Varys – I still didn’t know how much he could be trusted if he could be trusted at all.

“Your Highness!” Baelish gushed at me. “It’s a pleasant surprise to have you back here!” His words oozed sincerity. Say what you will about the slimy bastard, he was a very good mummer.

Behind the Master of Coin, Varys theatrically rolled his eyes, making sure I saw him very well and tittered.

“Why should it be?” I asked innocently. “I’m the Crown Prince now; I have a vested interest in learning to the best of my ability how the realm is run.” I spoke humbly.

Varys actually shot me a brief look of approval before seating himself at the table, while Littlefinger continued to smile at me like a snake. If it wasn’t for my returning emphatic abilities, I would have been hard pressed to call Baelish’s mask anything but genuine. While it was only echoes of emotions I could glean, it was enough in this case – Varys was actually pleasantly surprised by my conduit, while Littlefinger was anything but.

While we stared at each other with false smiles on our faces, Renly entered with a flourish, followed by the bulky form of Maester Pycelle. I had to remind myself that the old frail man routine of the Maester was mostly a mask he had perfected serving the Mad King, further he was supposedly my grandfather’s creature, however I was pretty sure that with Tywin back at Casterly Rock, Pycelle was now my mother’s creature – which meant I needed him neutralized as well.

Renly on the other hand, I wondered if my potential marriage with Margaery could neutralize him and make him an ally in the future. A civil war once Robert croaked was something that I had to avoid if at all possible. On the other hand, Renly wasn’t happy about what happened to him even if he knew he wasn’t suitable candidate to hold Storm’s End and the Stormlands in the long run. Rumour had it that he was utterly incapable of performing with a woman in his bed, which meant there would be no heirs coming from him. That left only Stannis, Shireen and my siblings as potential heirs for father’s birthright.

That was another can of worms. I was sure Stannis knew the truth and sooner or later he would be acting on it, which brought me to the other present problem – the new Hand of the King. While my conspiracy theory would keep people stumbling in the dark in the short term, I was pretty sure that Stark’s honour would push him at revealing the truth to Robert once he figured it out and then things were going to get ugly, fast. That in turn meant that I needed to get married, fast, likely to Margaery, thus binding the Tyrells and Lannisters to my cause, a second royal marriage dangled in front of Dorne and perhaps the Riverlands might be enough to keep thing stable… The only issue was that I simply couldn’t trust the fucking Dornish with my little sister, but perhaps Tommen sent as a Prince Consort?

And I was rambling in my head.

“Did you say something, Uncle?” I asked Renly.

“Merely wondering what is to happen to the Stormlands now.” Renly said.

“I’m curious too.” Littlefinger inquired with genuine interest.

“My uncle can do a splendid job.” I told them in a neutral tone, obviously without saying which uncle I had in mind.

Renly of course assumed I meant him and gave me a sparkling smile. Say what you will about him, the man oozed charisma, which was vital in this day and age. As long as he had a competent advisers and commanders to listen to, he might even make a good king. Unfortunately for him, his preferences in the bed and the fact that anyone would get the throne from me only from my cold, dead fingers meant that he would either support me or suffer a tragic “accident”.

Before we could begin swapping juicy gossip, the door swung open again, this time revealing Eddard Stark and Ser Selmy, who walked in together and took their seats.

“I see that the King hasn’t arrived yet.” The Hand frowned. “Well have to wait for him then.” He told us with a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

“I’m led to believe my father seldom attends.” I spoke aloud. That was certainly the case during the month leading to our trip North.

“Prince Durran is correct, my Lord Hand.” Varys spoke next. “The King seldom attends these meetings; he claims we don’t need him to decide various small matters.”

“We’re Lords of the small matters here.” Baelish explained brightly, thus earning himself a glare from Stark and Selmy, and a laugh from Renly. Even Varys allowed himself a subdued smile.

Stark looked my way.

“He was going after a busty servant the last I saw him.” I shrugged. “It’s unlikely that my father will deign to grace us with his presence today.”

The Hand didn’t bother concealing his wince while Ser Selmy remained stoic. There was no visible reaction from Renly or Varys – they had gotten accustomed to my father’s antics a long time ago. Littlefinger on the other hand simply smiled knowingly, making me wonder how many of the women father fucked regularly were his creatures who would would listen for information and perhaps even attempt to sneak a suggestion or two past the King. Not to mention that Robert’s affairs and all the bastards he had fathered, all of whom had the Baratheon look, in contrast to me and my siblings, would help sell the incest accusations once they surfaced. I had to grip the hilt of my Valyrian steel knife in a valiant effort not to let my building anger affect me. It was bad enough that Robert continued to fuck around with every woman he could get his hands on who wasn’t my mother, but doing it so blatantly and openly… at a time when my memories and Durran’s had fully integrated and we shared our emotions too… The fucking slights the King gleefully inflicted to my mother and her family… Those were simply infuriating.

As a side effect, the quiet whispers at the back of my head, the almost non-existent touch of the Dark Side, they grew more tangible as my anger increased in magnitude.

Luckily, Stark choose that moment to speak again and that proved sufficient distraction to allow me to force my emotions under a semblance of control.

“What are the most important issues we need to deal with?” The Hand inquired.

“First, we’ve got a representative of the Iron Bank in King’s Landing here to discuss payment of our debt. Second, there are rumours pertaining the Targaryen children...”

“Then there are the instructions from my brother.” My uncle added. “Robert wants us to hold a tourney in honour of his new Hand.” He waved cheerfully at Stark, who predictably scowled at the very idea.

“I’ll speak with the Iron Bank representative later today and report during the next Council meeting.” Baelish helpfully suggested.

“That’s your job as the Master of Coin.” Stark nodded.

“I would like to be present during those talks. I have vested interest in finding a way to inherit a solvent realm.” I butted in.

“That won’t be necessary, Your Highness...” Littlefinger began.

“I insist.” I added flatly. “Do we even have enough coin to pay for this tourney of the Hand?”

“My Prince, I can assure you, this Hand wants nothing to do with any tourneys. And what is this I’m hearing about debts to the Iron Bank?” Stark demanded answers.

“We’re in significant debt...” Baelish began to explain himself.

“Rumour has it that we owe the Iron Bank three million golden dragons...” I stared down the Master of Coin.

Stark looked owlishly at me before slowly turning his head to stare down at Littlefinger.

“Is that true?” He asked gravely.

“Oh, no. We’re six million in debt, half to the Iron Bank, the rest to Lord Tywin Lannister.”

“So by the time I inherit the crown and sit my arse on that uncomfortable monstrosity, I’ll have to sell the damn thing, likely the crown itself in order to afford lunch, is that right?” I asked irately. Change of plans, I needed Littlefinger alive and in interrogation chamber to figure out what the fuck happened to the Crown’s finances.

“How was this travesty allowed to happen?” Stark asked in a voice reminiscent to northern wind.

Baelish shrugged apologetically. He was obviously ready with his defence. “My Lord hand, The Master of Coin merely finds the money. It’s the King and his Hand who decide how to spend it.”

“I refuse to believe that Jon Arryn allowed this!” Stark all but roared at the perceived slight towards his foster father.

“We advised all-right. Renly grumbled. “My brother simply doesn’t care. Counting coppers, he calls it. It’s below his concern.” He grumbled in frustration, a sentiment we all could agree on. Well, everyone by Baelish who was gleeful below his sad facade.

“We’ll need to find a way to pay up. Antagonizing the Iron Bank isn’t a smart move. “And what’s that tournament? We obviously can’t afford one.”

Renly produced a sealed parchment and slid it across the table towards the Hand. Stark picked it up, examined its seal and broke it. As he read through it, Eddard’s face turned into a statue carved from ice.

“Forty thousand dragons for the champion of the Joust...” Stark’s words became a mere whisper. “Twenty thousand for the winner of the Melee and another twenty for the winner of the Archery competition...” Stark was obviously coming close to loosing it.

“Can the treasury bear such a burden?” Pycelle spoke for the first time since the meeting began. The talk about money or the lack thereof, jolted the old man awake.

“Lord Baelish, I hope that my grandfather is in a good mood when he receives your raven.” I fixed the Master of Coin with a stare. “You’re obviously not going to even think about borrowing anything else from the Iron Bank before we’ve paid our debts in full. Am I clear?”

Littlefinger looked at me for a long moment and nodded with a jerk of his head.

“Good. Eighty fucking thousand dragons.” I spat. “Then again, that’s just the prize money. We’ll need to spend thousands more to arrange the damn thing in the first place.”

“There will be no tournament!” Stark slammed the parchment on the table, crushing it. “I’ll speak with Robert and call off this madness!”

“You’ll have to convince father first, My Lord Hand.” I added. “That said, you have my support. I’ll come with you when you go to speak with him. Speaking about madness, Varys, what have you heard about the Dragons across the sea?”

“It seems that Viserys sold his young sister to a Dothraki Khal in an exchange for an army. There have been some disturbances reported happening during the wedding as well.” Varys began.

I laughed, I couldn’t help it. You see, the Dothraki, the terror of the Green sea and large chunks of Essos, they were screaming barbarians who had no concept or armour, tended to loose when pitied against competently led Unsullied and sellswords as long as the correlation of forces was reasonable. They also feared the sea and it would take miracle to make them board a ship. Then there was the logistics of transporting any relevant number across the sea. With a minimum warning, any invasion force would be gutted by the royal fleet and the scattered survivors would be slaughtered upon landing before they could recover from the trip.

Simply put, unless the realm tore itself to pieces in a civil war, all the Dothraki in Essos simply weren’t a credible threat. I said so aloud do sage nods from Renly and Stark, even Selmy joined.

“What else do we have to worry about and what was that disturbance during the dragon’s wedding?” I asked.

**=Sith=**

**Part 2: The Tourney of the Hand**

**=Sith=**

**=Durran=**

**The Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

There was frosty mist everywhere. It engulfed the city below me like an avalanche, hiding it from sight.

It did nothing to dampen the sounds of desperate battle echoing all over the capitol. The screams of men and women, the clash of steel… More often than not, they were drowned by the thunder of primitive guns and cannon.

I could see the flashes of explosions lighting up the mist, each outlining nearby buildings as if they were ghostly images.

Then the world shifted. I was in the throne room, which was filled with a handful of bannermen. The colors of their tabards were dull, letting me guess which Lord they owed allegiance to. All of them had various weapons in their hands – swords, axes, maces… Their uneasy eyes stared at the doors, which were sealed and barricaded with whatever little furniture was within the chamber, beside the ugly Iron Throne.

My eyes swept over the King's seat of power and stopped on a smaller chair placed next to it. I could see a woman sitting there. She had a crying babe in her hands. The child shifted in her arms and looked at me. A tiny arm waved at me and the child smiled.

I could see the baby's eyes. They were probably the clearest thing in this misty world.

They were like two sparkling emeralds.

Lannister green. Just like mine.

The world shifted again. The doors frosted over and shattered, peltering the nearby men with debris. It was quiet for the next couple of seconds, before they came.

Tall, thin figures with milky white skin. Piercing blue eyes that stared in one’s soul, chilling it to the core. Thin swords, with blades that looked like they were made from glass. Or ice.

For a moment the Others stared at us. Then they charged.

I awoke with a start, my heart thundering within my chest. I looked around, my eyes sweeping around my chambers.

Fuck, it was just a dream, right? Or a Force damned vision of a future in which we got our arses handled to us on a silver platter.

Note to myself, increase the priority of preparing for the Ice Zombie apocalypse.

I groaned and got myself out from under the warm rugs. This was going to be one fucked up day, I just knew it.

**=Sith=**

"Have you decided?" I asked the two men clad in the white armor of the Kingsguard.

My uncle grinned. "I was going to only joust, but if you insist..." He trailed off and patted the hilt of his sword.

My eyes turned to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Selmy was looking at me through narrowed eyes. "You just want to swindle a small fortune to finance your business operations within the city." He deadpanned.

"That too. Considering that one day I will have to pay up the Crown's debts, I say that would be a prudent course of action."

The old man grumbled something and nodded.

"It's agreed then! We have a tourney to win!"

"Swindle our way through, you mean." Jamie chuckled.

"Me? Cheat?" I gave them my best innocent expression. Needless to say it didn't work. "Unless either of you has a few million golden dragons lying around so we can pay up the Iron Bank? Or are you suggesting that once I'm King, I should just sell the Crown to grandfather?"

Both men winced at my words. Unfortunately they didn't disagree with that assessment.

**=Sith=**

**Tournament Grounds**

**Outside of King's Landing**

Whose idea was this anyway? Ah, mine. Fuck. I need to keep someone whose primary job is to remind me not to get myself in such messes.

"Your Highness..." One of the squires assigned to me for the tourney stammered. I looked at the lad, who had my shield in his hands and was offering it to me.

Time to face the music, I guess. I grabbed the piece of laminated wood reinforced with steel and strapped it to my left hand.

Yesterday all of this sounded like a great idea. It even began as such, when in the first round I managed to unhorse a minor Knight from the Reach.

I should have known better. I wanted to shake my head at my stupidity, however it was all too late now. I was the fucking Crown Prince. I couldn't afford to quit, and thus demonstrate that I had a modicum of common sense. Not when the whole fucking realm would see it as cowardice.

Even if that bastard was my opponent.

My second loaned squire gave me my lance. I took it, holding it just as the Armsmaster of Storm's End taught me.

Great idea. Riiight.

I should have stolen as much valuables as I could get away with and sailed for Essos.

I glared at my opponent. He was clad from head to toe in plate armour, heavy enough that a normal sized man won't be able to move in it.

The fucking Mountain that Rides wore it like a shirt of chainmail.

Fuck me running.

The squires scattered, getting out of the way. A trumped sounded, silencing the crowds gathered to watch us noble idiots try to kill each other.

Using my legs I guided my horse forward, then spurred him into trot. Then gallop.

The fear and apprehension I felt melted away. My mind became crystal clear once my training kicked in. Adrenalin flooded my veins.

It was time to face the music.

The Mountain thundered my way, his lance pointing straight at me.

The world slowed down a bit. I could feel each bump as the horse under me galloped forward. The lance aiming to spear me was getting bigger and bigger by the moment.

Time was up.

My left hand moved on instinct, inerposing my shield between me and the implement of death ready to bury itself in my flesh. I already knew that my only real way out was to deflect the Mountain's lance. I also knew that it wouldn't be enough. The bastard was too big. There was too much mass and momentum behind his attack for my youthful form to absorb.

In the last possible moment I raised my right hand, my lance pulling up and barely missing the Mountain's shield.

His weapon slammed into my shield, shattering in a million flying pieces of timber. I could feel my arm cracking.

Then the world blinked out.

**=Sith=**

**=Baristan=**

After handling the first round with ease, by dismounting ser Hugh of the Vale, the former squire of Jon Arryn, the Commander of the Kingsguard joined the rest of the Knights participating in the Tournament to watch the next bout. Baristan winced when the opponents were announced.

One was the Crown Prince… and his opponent was that murderous brute, Gregor Clegane. He gripped the reins of his warhorse and glared at the giant man. Baristan very much wanted to grab his lance and charge the sorry excuse of a Knight. His honor and duty demanded it! Yet all the same, honor stayed his hand. Interfering would do the young Prince a disservice. It would show the realm that the leader of the Kingsguard himself had no faith in his Prince’s abilities.

Baristan stood rigid, watching like a hawk how the two warriors charged each other. The Prince rode as well as one might expect, showing good technique.

Not that it was likely to be near enough. Not against that monster.

Just before the two armored men met in the middle of the tourney ground, Durran changed the aim of his lance, slipping his weapon above the Mountain's shield. The dulled piece of wood slammed into the black helmet with enough force to break through the armor before shattering and leaving it's tip sticking from it. Clegane's head snapped back, only the shape of his helmet keeping his neck from breaking. The giant man staggered from the impact and slid from his saddle, landing heavy on the ground.

The Prince was less fortunate. Baristan saw how his young charge deflected the Mountain's lance, it was well done, yet not enough. There was obviously too much power behind the strike. The weapon shattered on Durran's shield, the shield itself broke into shards as well, and the force of the blow threw the Prince off his saddle to land hard onto his back.

For a moment everyone was still, starring at the spectacle.

A heartbeat later pandemonium ensured.

The smallfolk watching the tourney started screaming. Some in joy at seeing the Mountain humbled, other in shock at the fall of the Prince.

He winced when he saw Princess Myrcella dash from the stands and sprint towards her fallen brother, followed by Prince Tommen.

Then everything started to go to hell. The Mountain sat up, pulled the bloody piece of wood imbedded into his helmet and roared for his sword. The man's squire obeyed, sprinting with a two-hander slung over one shoulder.

Baristan didn't really think. He simply reacted, spurring his horse to move and headed towards his charge. He could see Ser Arys moving towards the Prince he was sworn to protect as well as Durran's sworn shield. The Lord Commander glanced at the rest of his sworn brothers and cursed. Two Kingsguard stood behind the King and another was making his way from the far side of the stands.

None of them were going to reach Prince Durran and the Mountain, before that madman had his sword in hand. That fucking squire was running like a rabbit chased by a hellhound. The boy reached Clegane, who drew his weapon single-handed before roaring in rage. The Mountain grabbed his sword with both hands and swung, decapitating his horse with a single slash. He looked around and stared at Durran who was still on the ground, with Myrcella kneeling next to him.

"Fuck!" Baristan spat when the Mountain headed towards the Royal children. The huge bastard was moving faster than anyone as big as him should be able to.

Baristan saw the King ponderously rising, shouting something, but his words were drowned by the screams of the crowds.

**=Sith=**

**Part 3: A Mountain falls**

**=Sith=**

**=The Mountain that Rides=**

**Tourney grounds**

**outside King’s Landing**

Red haze and searing pain engulfed his whole world. Yet, there was the hot rage that was his constant companion stirring within his chest, filling up his whole being and soothing the pain. For nearly two moons now, his rage has been hotter than usual, gave him more and more satisfaction when he indulged it. It even helped soothe the head-splitting headaches he had suffered from years and treated with increasingly large doses of Milk of the Poppy.

Today? Despite the pain and shock from being stabbed in the face and smashed down from his horse, the rage endured, ran even hotter than usual and acted as a great painkiller.

His left eye wasn’t working. He saw through the right as if crimson bloody mist covered the world, and it was all right. He had a blade in his hand, the rage bubbled within his heart.

All was as it should be.

The Mountain looked around for an appropriate target, while his fury whispered at the back of his head. Ah, there was the little shit who had the temerity to hurt him.

Cleagne grinned. There were two small forms near the fucker he had knocked out. Splendid, more cunts to turn into red stains in the mud! He strode forward with a purpose, his injury forgotten. There was a flimsy wooden parapet separating him from the fresh kills waiting to be made and the Mountain glowered at it. He swung his sword, which felt surprisingly light in his hands and the wooden barrier splintered as it ought to. Everytime he moved with a purpose, ready to slaughter all who stood in front of him, his sword arm felt stronger, his sword lighter, easier to swing. Thirstier.

All that, made killing much easier, which meant he could slaughter more people before he felt the touch of fatigue.

Just as it should be.

He slashed a gain, the wood parting in front of his blade as if it was made of butter. A backswing with an armoured fist sent splinters flying everywhere and the path was clear.

The Mountain’s smile became even more vicious once his brain finally registered the annoying noise that he has been hearing for some time. Screams of horror and terror. That was music for his ears.

The fuck he was about to gut finally stirred and shouted something, but the Mountain paid it no heed. He was probably squealing for mercy, heh. As if he would ever oblige.

The armoured form managed to sit up and push one of the smaller forms, the children away. He shouted something to the boy, who not that they were closer, looked deliciously terrified. The girl’s tears made it even better. It was too bad she wasn’t screaming in terror too. She would, soon.

Cleagne raised his sword as if it was a toy and swung down, hard. He was hungry for more blood, to see the fucker sheared in two.

It came as a rude surprise when his newest victim managed to roll in the mud and avoid his blade. The Mountain bellowed in fury. He was going to tear that little prick to pieces!

He struck again, and the little bastard managed to roll away, again, the little cunt!

Clegane was about to strike again, this time horizontally so the fuck couldn’t get away, when he felt something. His instincts screamed of danger and he swung to the right, his blade tearing through the air. A horse shrieked in pain and terror. The animal stumbled with its throat cut and threw off it's rider. The horse collapsed barely missing Clegane and his target. The Mountain chuckled when he saw a man in pale armor flying through the air.

Then he roared in pain when something hard slammed into his manhood. The Mountain's eyes snapped towards his intended victim and saw him retrieving an armored leg, which he was pulling back for another kick. Before he could react, the sole of the steel boot slammed into his loins for a second time.

The heavily armored man stumbled to his knees. For a moment the crimson haze lifted, battered away by wave of pain and feeling sick. Then the fury returned with a vengeance, the agony in his manhood washing away on a tidal wave of pure rage. He roared at the heavens and stood up, using his sword to pull up his bulk. In the meantime, his target had managed roll over and was on his knees, trying to stand up.

Clegane was about to skewer the fuck when he sensed someone approaching and turned, his sword already moving to gut the next distraction. There was another man in a familiar looking white plate, who had a sword in hand. The Mountain growled when the damn pest managed to stop in time and stumble back, barely avoiding the sweeping arc of his sword. There was another man sprinting in their direction, wearing a black tabard with a silver stag on it. That one had a sword and shield.

The Mountain laughed. More fools to slaughter. He moved forward, his intended victim forgotten for the moment. Steel met steel in a thunderous clash and Clegane frowned. The fuck in white armor managed to block his strike and kept a hold of his blade. No matter. He was going to die anyway. The two-hander sang again, sweeping in a deadly arc. This time the heavy, bloodthirsty blade would not be so easily denied. Clegane's strike smashed through the guard of his opponent, the longsword of the Kingsguard proving out to be less than adequate defense. The smaller blade was battered aside and the two-hander slammed at the plate protecting Ser Arys' shoulder. The white armor did it's job, preventing the strike for severing the Kingsguard left arm.

However, the force behind the strike would not be denied. A sickening crack could be head as the loyal knight was forced on his knees from the titanic blow.

Ser Arys' shout of pain as his shoulder was smashed was a music for the Mountain's ears. The giant of a man swung again, determined to decapitate the wounded knight, only to stagger when his attack was met by steel-reinforced shield. The wooden board cracked by the impact, which threw its owner back, yet it did it's job.

Clegane snarled when his kill was denied again. He wasted no time and went on the offensive, battering the shield again and again. His fourth strike shattered it and threw the man that wielded it to the ground. The Mountain raised his sword with a roar of triumph, ready to cut in half the third fucker that tried to stop his fun.

His below turned into one of agony when fiery pain slashed through the back of his right knee. For a moment Clegane remained on his feet, then the pain exploded further as whatever that had stabbed him was rotated in the wound, destroying his joint. The Mountain screamed in pain and fell on his knees.

A lesser man would have been incapacitated by the agony. Even Clegane might have been if it wasn't for the red haze that was consuming his existence. He roared again and turned, using his hale leg as leverage. His left hand swept in an arch, backhanding whoever cowardly attacked him from behind. He felt a satisfying crunch of steel hitting steel and heard someone falling in the mud. The Mountain used his great sword as a cane so he could turn towards the fuck that had the temerity to wound him. His one still working eye glared at the armored figure that laid prone in the mud. He could see that the fucker's helmet was dented on the side he backhanded him and grinned. It was time to finish that.

He could feel it. There were more bastards coming at him, ready to fuck up with his fun. That simply wouldn't do. He could see a pair of men clad in that white armor wadding his way. The fucks weren't going to be fast enough. Neither the bastards in red or black who were converging on his position. He was going to finish the three cunts that dared attack him and then deal with the rest.

He was the Fucking Mountain that Rides! It wasn't like a bunch of weaklings could bring him down, wounds or no wounds!

Clegane raised his great sword, ready to gut his original target when he heard thunder. Acting on instinct he tried to turn around, when a battering ram struck just behind his right shoulder and threw him in the mud. The agony in his wounded knee flared to new heights and he screamed in pain.

The red haze finally shattered, just like the tourney lance that sent him in the mud.

For a few brief moments, Clegane's mind was clear. Memories surged back and he remembered where he was.

"FUCK!" He spat while trying to sit up.

"Sword!" Spat a familiar voice filled with so much hatred that gave even him a pause.

The Mountain managed to sit up just in time to see the armored form of Prince Durran receive a naked blade from a Kingsguard. The boy grabbed it with his right hand and took an unsteady step towards him. Clegane raised a hand to protect himself. His mouth opened to say something. Then the sword flashed forward, a ray of sun sparkling over the blade and blinding his good eye.

The Mountain felt a moment of pain as something tore through the front of his face and then he knew only darkness.

If he had to be honest with himself, there were precious few times when Tyrion really regretted being a dwarf. It wasn't because he was short. Nope. It wasn't because most of his relatives either hated or pitied him. It was because of the few times he was unable to do something, because he was simply not strong or fast enough thanks to his shunted statute.

This was one of those moments.

Tyrion watched with growing horror how his favorite nephew was about to get gutted along with Cela and Tommen, while he was unable to do a damn thing. He could see how the Kingsguard were wadding like bloody ducks in their plate armor, too slow to intervene. Most of the Lannister and Baratheon men providing security apparently were too far away or unaware of what was happening, and as far as anyone was concerned, the fucking Gold Cloaks might have been non-existent.

The Imp perked up when Durran stirred and awoke. His favorite nephew pushed Tommen towards Myrcella, probably shouting them to get away. Then the fucking Mountain was upon him, swinging his damned oversized sword at the prince. The blade somehow missed when Durran managed do roll away. Tyrion was frozen in place, when the bloody giant swung away and missed a second time.

It was almost enough to make him believe in the Seven.

"Fuck!" Tyrion swore aloud. The rest of the people in the Lords lodge were panicking and standing up, cutting his view.

He was on his feet and moving, getting up the stand so he could get a better view. It wasn't like he could get down it time to do anything besides becoming a comic distraction.

On his way up, Tyrion passed the King and his two attending Kingsguards who were pushing their way through the crowd of distressed lords and ladies, until he was high enough to see what was happening. He could see another dead horse and a man in the distinctive white plate of the Kingsguard laying in the mud. For a moment he was afraid that it was Jamie, but then the short graying hair registered. Ser Selmy.

Tyrion's mismatched eyes darted towards the Mountain and saw him battering the shield of Durran's man, Marrek. There was another Kingsguard laying in the mud, Ser Oakheart if he wasn't mistaken.

There were guards moving towards the fighting men, but they were still too far away, too slow in their armors. The Imp swore when a powerful blow shattered Marrek's shield and sent the man tumbling to the ground. Tyrion's eyes widened when he saw his nephew dashing towards the Mountain, a knife flashing in his hand. Durran moved low and slammed the blade in the back of Clegane's right knee, then twisted, bringing the giant down.

Tyrion grinned, half mad that his nephew didn't do the sensible thing and ran away, half proud that he had brought that fucker low.

The Mountain moved like a viper, half turning and his left hand flashed in a blinding fast movement. The smile froze on Tyrion's face. He saw the side of Durran's helmet dent and his head snap to the side. The young man fell to the ground as if his legs were cut from underneath him.

The Kingsguards and various bannermen were getting closer and closer.

Not fast enough.

Tyrion watched with a sick fascination how Clegane turned around, despite his destroyed knee and prepared to gut Durran. Then the Mountain was smashed aside by a lance that shattered on his back. Tyrion's eyes widened and followed the rider, who was doing his best to stop his horse and turn around. It was Jamie, clad in his golden armor!

Sudden silence engulfed the tourney grounds. Everyone was starring at the prone figures of Clegane and Durran. The Prince was the first to stumble to his feet, with the Mountain trying to get up moments later. The pair of Kingsguards that were closer were upon the giant, pointing their naked blades at the monster.

"SWORD!" Durran growled with such hatred that gave everyone pause.

Ser Preston Greenfield, who was closest to Durran, looked at the Crown Prince, before he gave him his weapon, hilt first.

Tyrion's nephew gave the Knight a stiff nod, took the weapon and strode up to the Mountain, who had gotten to his knees. Durran was cradling his left hand next to his chest, but his right was apparently all right. Without saying anything, the Prince shoved the sword through the vision port of Clegane's helmet and twisted before placing a leg on the giant's chest plate and pushing back, pulling out the blood and brain's covered blade.

For a few long moments everyone just stared at the Prince who felled the mountain. It started slowly, quietly. Then it picked up speed and volume.

First the chant began among the smallfoks, then a few of the guards picked it up as well, before it became an avalanche.

"Durran! Durran! DURRAN!" The gathered crowds screamed in abadon.

"That's him! That's my son! MY SON!" Robert's joyful roar swept over the stands. "OURS THE FURY!"

**=Sith=**

**Part 5: Aftermath**

**=Sith=**

**Tournament grounds**

**King's Landing**

"This could have gotten better." Durran groaned. "Yo, Tommen, Cella, are you two all right?" The Crown prince shouted, yet his voice was barely a whisper above the chant of the crowd.

"That's actually a good question. Where the fuck are my niece and other nephew?!" Tyrion shouted, for all the good it did. He started cursing and wadding through the crowd. Yep. Now that the danger was over, everyone appeared to be down in the dirt, asking questions.

"I'll live! Where are my siblings?" Durran roared. This time it was loud enough to be heard.

The knights who had made their way to the Prince started looking around. Or at lest he hoped so. Tyrion was a bit busy making his way around the Mountain's decapitated horse, while doing his best not to be trampled by various concerned parties.

"I'll find them." Jamie shouted from atop his horse. The Imp's brother had made his way back after lancing Clegane.

"Stop bloody gawking and call in a Maester or two! We have wounded here!" Durran growled.

"Move away, damn you!" Robert roared from near the stands. Ah, so he too decided to join the circus. Under different circumstances, Tyrion might have found the whole situation amusing. Considering what just happened, it was anything but.

Tyrion walked under what was left of the wooden parapet dividing the Jousting field in two, sidestepped a Kingsguard and was finally able to see Durran up close. His nephew was coated in dust and held his left arm up to his chest. The plate arm-guard was dented, probably biting in the flesh too. Damn. That had to hurt.

"Ah, Uncle." Durran glanced his way as if he knew Tyrion had arrived. "Do me a favor, you and Jamie go find my brother and sister. I think that they went that way." He nodded towards the low wooden fence behind which the smallfolk were gathered.

"No need. I can see them. Get here, you rascals!" Jamie shouted from his horse and pointed at something Tyrion couldn't see.

"That's my son!" Robert roared again, pushing his way through the increasingly large crowd gathering around Durran. The King made his way up to his son and grabbed the poor youngster in a bear hug. Ouch.

"Fuck, watch the arm!" Durran groaned.

"Nonsense! It's just a scratch!" Robert slammed a paw in his son's back, shaking him despite the heavy armor he was wearing. Then the King grabbed Durran's hale hand and pulled it in the air. "My SON! I'm proud of you!" Robert roared for all to hear.

Well, the King had a point, Tyrion mussed. With Joffrey being, well himself, and the other kids growing under his shadow and Cersei's insane coddling, it wasn't like there was any chance for them to make Robert proud anytime soon. He almost smiled at the thought of Joffrey facing the Mountain on horseback. Then again, he would be soon treated by the sight of his dear sister loosing it when she learned of what just happened. He had to be there to watch.

When Durran managed to get away from his father, the Prince went up to his sworn sword, who was still lying on the dirt.

"You still alive down there?" Durran pocked Marrek with a foot.

"Urghh… That cunt broke my arm.!" The wounded man groaned.

"Mine too. I think. Hurts like it anyway. How are Sers Selmy and Oakheart?" Durran turned to the bystanders. Ser Greenfield was kneeling near the latter, checking him up.

"Durran!" A small, blonde missile tried to tackle the Prince, hitting his armored form with a resounding ding, almost bouncing from him. Durran’s right arm shot out and grabbed the girl before she could fall into the dirt. "Oww… You hurt..." She pouted.

"Hey, you all right, sweetling?" Durran chuckled and ruffed her hair after he made sure she stood on steady feet.

"You got hurt! You promised you'll be all right!" The princess jabbed an accusing finger at her brother's face.

"Just a little bit. Where's Tommen?"

Myrcella shrugged and pointed behind her back. Sure enough, the younger prince was there, with a dismounted Jamie walking a step behind him.

"Well at least you two are all right. Father, may I make a suggestion?"

"What is it? Do you need a few sculls to bash?"

"Perhaps later. The men who came with that." Durran nodded at the cooling corpse of the Mountain. "I think it would be prudent if some guardsmen go see if they are up to no good. Clegane was the only thing keeping them in line and he just tried to kill not only me but my siblings too. That's attempted regicide, something he's well known for."

The assembled lords and knights took a pause at those words. Then they exploded with excited chatter.

'Durran what the fuck are you up to now?!' Tyrion wondered.

"Guards! Get the cunts! I want them in the black cells!"

This was going to get ugly.

**=Sith=**

**=Oberyn=**

**King’s Landing**

As a rule, Oberyn never regretted the time he spent drinking and fucking into brothels, not to mention those places were great locations to plant spies and learn rumours.

Today, was one of the very rare exceptions and he was thankful for Ellaria’s comforting presence. If it wasn’t for her and the fact that she was pregnant, again, thus giving him a reason to keep his hot blood under better control than usual, Oberyn knew he might have very well done something stupid.

He had all the right to do something, damn it all! He missed his chance! The Mountain, and his men for that matter were so close, practically within reach. It would have been so easy, so simple to go after them…

“Oberyn...” Ellaria pouted when she saw his expression. “You’re contemplating doing something reckless, I know this look very well.”

The Prince of Dorne raised his head and smiled brightly, offering her a ‘who, me?’ look.

“Yes, you.” She affectionally pocked his shoulder. “Is it true, what do you think?”

Oberyn snorted and nodded towards the common drinking room of the brothel they currently stayed at. The excited chatter and stories could be clearly heard. The Mountain was dead, killed by Prince Durran after the Monster slipped its leash. What Oberyn would give to have been there to witness it, even better, to be the one to swing the blade? And the same was true for the Mountain’s people, who were now rumoured to have taken part in the Sack of King’s landing and be all responsible for the murder of Oberyn’s little sister and her children… That was another thing he missed while getting drunk, Baratheon knights and men-at-arms, even Lannister ones had tracked those bastards and either killed them all or dragged them kicking and screaming to the black cells. There was even a rumour that Prince Durran intended to handle the survivors to Dorne.

Honestly, Oberyn didn’t know what to think about that. He didn’t know what to think about the Crown Prince. Under different circumstances, he would proclaim his undying friendship to the boy, yet the lad was both Lannister and a Baratheon… Yet, on the other hand, Durran hadn’t even been born during the sack so he really didn’t carry any responsibility for what happened then…

“I find myself conflicted and confused, my love.” Oberyn relaxed a fraction and turned his attention upon his paramour. “Justice has been carried out this day. Just two more remain,” naturally, even he wasn’t foolish enough to call for the heads of the King and Tywin Lannister while in King’s Landing, “yet I find little satisfaction in learning of it. It should have been us who spill their blood...”

“They’re dead, we’re alive.” Ellaria grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him into a heated kiss that took out his breath. “Elia and the children’s spirits rest easier today, that’s what’s important.” She whispered and slammed her lips into his again.

**=Sith=**

**Royal Quarters**

**the Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

"Get out of my way!" Cersei screech could be heard echoing through out the citadel.

"Ah. Someone told mum." Durran groaned.

"Please stay still, your Highness." The Grand Maester chided, while pocking Durran's brutalized arm.

"You know, I'm not sure I've seen this particular shade of purple before." Tyrion quipped from behind the Maester.

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine today, uncle. Give me a goblet of that wine before you've drank it all."

"You sure? The Maester can give you Milk of the Poppy. It will be better for the pain..." Tyrion tried. The wine was sweet Dornish, some of the best he had ever tried. Besides it wasn't like Durran could really appreciate it, he'll be soon slumbering anyway.

"Give it here. I don't need Milk of the Poppy." His nephew made a face at the very idea.

"Fine. It's on your head. Don't go complaining to me if it hurts."

Durran grabbed the offered goblet with a snort, before sampling the wine.

"Move! I need to see my son!" This time Cersei's screech came from behind the door.

"This will be fun." Durran groaned.

The door was opened and shoved away with enough strength to make it slam in the wall. Pycelle jumped at the sound, earning himself a growl from his patient.

"Durran, gods what did you do to yourself?!" Cersei exclaimed once she saw his arm.

"Me? Nothing. That's all the Mountain's fault." Durran waved at his left hand. "The fuck tried to go after Tommen and Myrcella too." He added.

"WHAT?!" The screech that came from Cersei was deafening.

Oh, my. Father isn't going to enjoy this, something that Tyrion approved of on general principle. What confused him were Durran's motives for stirring even more trouble after Clegane's epic fuck up.

"I'll see him dead!" Cersei growled. Furious fires burned in her eyes.

"Already taken care of, mother. Do you really think that I'll let someone threaten my siblings and live?"

"Good." Cersei's severe expression softened a bit as her fury was slowly replaced by worry. She went to her son and hugged him, while being careful not to nudge his wounded arm.

**=Sith=**

**Interlude: No more Gold Cloaks**

**=Sith=**

**Royal Quarters**

**The Red Keep**

**King's Landing**

"That's surprising. I didn't expect that many volunteers." Well, unless there were proper Imperial agents motivating the sorry bastards, but those were conspicuously missing on Planetos. I gave a thoughtful look to Marrek who had a proud smile on his face. Then again, I did have a few men who could make the cut with their obvious enthusiasm for the job at hand. "What exactly did you do, my friend?"

The smile morphed into a vicious grin. "Took your teachings to heart, my prince."

"Did you now?" A beginning of a smile was tugging the corners of my lips. "This I got to hear."

"Well, it was your plan in the first place, your Highness."

"Marrek, dispense with the flattery unless there is someone who really gives a damn about it. We've spoken about it many, many times." I growled at my right hand man.

He smirked and nodded. He was doing it on purpose the bastard.

"As you wish, sir. As you know, last night we had Slynt order all the Goldies back to their barracks while Baratheon and Northern bannermen took charge of the city gates and protecting the keep. We had units converge on the barracks, led by men who knew who the most likely troublemakers were."

Yeah, my agents in the city were rather busy little spies while we were freezing our arses in the North. When we returned I had to have a lot of meeting to get back up to speed with what was happening in the capital.

"The worst were apprehended and dealt with without too much trouble. All except those at the barracks and at the River and Lion's gates."

"Those were supposedly the worst." I nodded. Still, the preliminary report was that of a stunning success, though I would have to deal with the fallout anyway. Even with the King and Hand behind me on this little scheme, there would be a lot of nervous Lords with wounded egos in a need of reassurance that we didn't plan any dastardy deeds. Especially those who were spending a lot of gold on the former city watch, though most of those were doing so because of mostly harmless business interest.

"Well, the Mud gate Goldies were a handful." Marrek nodded.

He had chosen to lead that particular raid, because it promised to be the most troublesome. Those particular gold cloaks were for all intents and purposes a small mercenary band run by their officers and answering only to them. Which was not only a fucking disgrace but a damn dangerous for the city I was stuck in.

"So they didn't like the changes?"

"Heh. When it was clear that we were going to be arresting all their officers and most of their sergeants it went ugly. Just as we planned it. That said, you never explained why you wanted us to do it in such a way that it would guarantee bloodshed."

"I wanted an example made of them. It's no longer business as usual in this city. Considering that we are stuck in here, I want this place reasonably secure. That means a city watch that can be counted on. Not a bunch of mercenaries in all but name who could be bought by the highest bidder."

"Well, the easy part is done. Now making those who pass muster into what you consider proper soldiers..." Marrek trailed off. He wasn't really convinced that the former goldies cold be made into a proper military.

While I've done it with much lesser quality of personnel before, then I had the benefit of some real hard ass imperial NCOs. Here and now, I had a bunch of knights who were actually competent as well as some carefully chosen mercenaries, led by a former New Ghis Centurion.

They would have to do, though I intended to take a hand in the shaping of the Royal Guards. After all, I wanted them to not only be the best fighting force that this backwards world has ever seen, but to be my bunch of professional killers too.

"So how did you get me so much volunteers. from the Mud gate? Spill."

Marrek gave me a toothy grin. "Well, first there was the little scrap. The Goldies didn't do too well against a two dozen heavy infantry who knew what they were doing. The crossbows were a nice touch too. We shot a bunch of the bastards, before it got close and personal. Then there was the second group of crossbowmen who entered when the scrap was ongoing. One aimed salvo and the fight was out of the cunts."

"Then you went in and charmed all the survivors to join the Royal Guard?" I asked.

"In a manner of speaking..."

**=Sith=**

**Gold Cloaks Barrack's**

**Near the Mud Gate**

**King's Landing**

"Well, that's done." Marrek smiled thinly at the gold cloaks.

None of them was brave enough to look him in the face. The bunch of dead men thrown in the middle of the large, but cramped room had something to do with it. The naked and bloody blade in his hands helped too.

But most importantly, the two dozen accomplished killers at his back, who would follow his lead without asking any questions sealed the deal.

What remained of this district's contingent of "city guards" lived or died at his convenience. If it was up to him, Marrek would have simply executed the whole bunch of corrupt cunts and gotten himself busy searching for another source of ready manpower to tap for his prince's plans. Preferably reliable men. On the other hand, he wasn't particularly regretting the lack of further bloodshed. After that mess with the Mountain last week, the sworn shield wasn't his usual deadly self. A few cracked bones and persisting headache would do that to a man.

"Laddies..." Marrek's smile become a tiny bit wider. "Prince Durran, the merciful fellow he is, decided that some of you can redeem yourselves in the eyes of the crown. I'm here to make sure it happens." He beamed at the disarmed gold cloaks. For some reason the front rank took a step back colliding with those behind them.

Damn undisciplined scum…

"If it was up to me..." Marrek shrugged and nodded at the pile of corpses in the middle of the barracks, which contained the most corrupt and vile of the lot. They weren't particularly thrilled when the knight and his men began straightening the city watch and abruptly ended the rather lucrative grafts, and protection rackets most of the so called officers were running. Needless to say, most of those and their yes men were dealt with. Well, with the notable exception of the man who used to run this particular bunch of scum. That fella was in the black cells being asked some pointed questions.

"As I said, our Crown Prince is a reasonable and downright merciful man. So you lot have three distinct choices." Marrek beamed at the sorry excuses for city guards. "First is the most pious one, so I doubt that any of you will choose it. It's the customary trip to the Wall, so you can spent the rest of your short miserable lives freezing what passes for your manhoods in the North."

A bunch of sullen looks was the only answer he got. Damn, this was fun.

"Next, you decide to be unreasonable bunch of cunts and joint this lot." Marrek pointed his bloody sword at the pile of corpses. "No takers? Pity." He gave the survivors of the purge a disappointed look. "Now, choice number three." The smile became downright vicious. "You laddies become volunteers. for the newly established Royal Guard, who will be responsible for the protection of this city and the surrounding countryside. If you got the guts to step up and finally do your Seven damned duty, there will be some perks. Three guaranteed meals a day and a decent payment. However if any of you thinks that it will be work as usual, there will be no second chances." Marrek nodded at the corpses. "No taking the black. Just a sharp blade and the offenders getting shortened by a head. Decide. Now."

**=Sith=**

**Part 6: Meeting the Rose**

**=Sith=**

**King's Road**

**Near King's Landing**

"Remind me, whose brilliant idea was this?" I asked from atop a miserable warhorse. At least my ride wasn't decked up in heavy armor, though I don't imagine that he particularly liked being ridden in this heat anyway.

Did I mention that? From what little I remember from the show, it wasn't supposed to be this hot in the vicinity of King's Landing. The trouble is that someone apparently forgot to sent that memo to the weather, because it felt like 40 C. In the damn shade near the King's Road where I was stuck with a small party, awaiting one of my possible brides.

"You wanted to get out of the damn stench." Marrek, who was commiserating nearby quipped. "Or was it getting away from her Grace?"

"It felt like a good idea at the time." I muttered. Actually it felt like a splendid idea after another afternoon of Cersei hovering around me and being "helpful"...

"How did you managed to escape?" My Sworn Shield decided to twist the knife.

"I owe Cella one for that." I muttered under my nose.

"What was that?" He needled again.

"Marrek, you are straying dangerously close to volunteering for the next unpleasant task that rears its ugly head."

"That wasn't an answer, your Highness." My Knight stated smugly.

Yep. I needed to find something unpleasant that suddenly needed doing.

The sorry remains of my dignity were saved by the arrival of the Reach outriders, who were about a league in front of the rest, making sure that everything was all right. Huh. Some measure of healthy paranoia over there.

Beside me Marrek nodded in approval.

When they noticed us, the riders abruptly stopped and exchanged words before heading our way at a more sedate pace. If their tabards were anything to go by, they were Tyrell bannermen, led by a few knights I was unfamiliar with.

I put my best fake smile as the Reachers approached. It was time for a meet and greet.

A few pleasantries later, we were escorted to the main procession, to meet the important people. Surprise, surprise, the Tyrells actually had a pair of rather small, sensible coaches, followed by a bunch of supply carts and a lot of riders. Nothing like the travesty that was our own royal column on the way to Winterfell and back. That and the sensible spread of outriders won the Reachers a few points in my book.

"You're a lucky man." Marrek muttered next to me, quiet enough that only I could hear him. I raised and eyebrow and followed the way he was looking. That was a group of riders just in front of the leading coach. A rather large and wide man was in the middle. That had to be Mace Tyrell. His face was familiar from a visit a long time ago. What, or rather who, had Marrek's attention, was the person riding next to Mace.

Yep. Margaery Tyrell was most definitely the most eligible maid in the seven kingdoms even before you got to the important part of whose daughter she was. Let me tell you, here and now she looked simply stunning.

I had to actually close my eyes, take a deep breath and use some of the mental exercises I've been taught back when some utter bastards were busy making me a proper murderous Sith in order to calm down.

At that moment I had a revelation. I was in a bloody teenage body and the damn hormones were out to play. Well, this was going to be "fun".

When I opened my eyes a few moments later I pointedly didn't look at the snug, nearly transparent dress Margaery was wearing. I was trying very hard not to think about the curves snugly hugged by so very thin sheet of silk that… I shook my head. Damn, this was going to be hard. I wasn't a god damned teenager, fuck it all!

Think about that body! A treacherous voice whispered at the back of my head.

A burst of anger and grabbing as much of the Dark Side as I could, which admittedly was a tiny amount, and I was somewhat calm as the cool presence of the Force flowed through me, clearing my head.

Those never sufficiently damned hormones… I seethed for a moment. Then I straightened up and fixed my fake smile.

It took a few seconds for Mace to recognize me, he at least had seen me in the past, before his face lit up like a Stardestroyer's engine at flank speed. He beamed at me. "Your Highness! Such and unexpected and pleasant surprise!"

"My Lord Tyrell. My Lady, Margaery. It's been far too long!" I gave them a respectful half bow while I was still on the horse.

Margaery gave me a demure smile. I had the barest hint of warning, thanks to the mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"My Prince!" She exclaimed in a honeyed voice and gave me a very proper and respectful curtsy. Considering that we were rather close by now, that gave me a rather nice view of her breasts.

Damn, minx. If I was actually Durran, she wound undoubtedly have had me securely tied up around her little finger already. As things stood, unless I got my hormones under control, she would do it anyway over the next fortnight.

I swallowed the first words that came to my tongue, they were rather improper for the society I found myself stuck in. Instead I drew on all the proper education that Durran had received as well as my own rather vaster experience, and started buttering up the Tyrells like a champ.

A couple of minutes later, Mace had a grin plastered on his face and was emphatically nodding, hanging on my words. Meanwhile, Margaery had a rather forced smile on her face, on that most people would have mistaken for the genuine thing. She was good, very good for someone her age, if still somewhat inexperienced.

It remained to be seen if her mind would rival or if I was lucky surpass her beauty.

The meet and greet was interrupted by a rather harsh bellow of "Mace!" coming from the nearest coach. "Won't you be a nice boy and introduce our visitors?"

Oh, my. I gave Lord Tyrell a rather pointed look. He had to bring the Queen of Roses, didn't he? While I had professional interest in meeting the woman, her presence was likely to make any negotiations for Margeary's marriage much more interesting.

On the other hand, if I was somehow able to arrange for Lady Ollena being on the other side of the Kingdom from Mace, the poor bastard would owe me big time… Hmm…

"Ah, right." The Lord of the Reach flustered and got out of his stupor. "I believe you have the pleasure of knowing my Lady Mother?" He stammered.

"We were introduced during my visit to Highgarden all those years ago." I nodded.

"Yes, almost ten years, was it?"

"Something like that." I grinned at Margaery. "So they somehow managed to make a proper Lady of you, My Lady?" I asked. The little girl I remembered was more akin to the way Arya was portrayed than what I knew of Margaery from this time period.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, my Prince." She bathed her eyelashes at me, still smiling in that demure way. "I've always been a proper Lady."

Uh-huh. That mischievous glint in her eyes told me another story. That girl had potential.

"If you insist." My smile actually genuine and reached my eyes for the first time since we were introduced. "Far be for me to gainsay a lady such as you."

Her brown eyes glinted with humor. "By the Seven you're already developing the proper habit of agreeing with me."

"That’s rather forward of you, isn’t it, my Lady?," I chided but with no real heat; something my eyes reflected because she tilted her head back and gave a tinkling laughter.

Damn, her voice was tugging strings I forgot that existed in my dark, cold heart.

"Merely confident," she stated primly.

"I think it will be for the best if I reintroduced you to my grandmother, your Highness." Mace sounded resigned.

Considering how Cersei has been acting lately I was rather sympathetic.

"Yes, lets." I guided my horse towards the coach. "Lady Tyrell! It's been far too long since we met!" I exclaimed.

So this was probably the most dangerous woman on the damn continent. On first sight she reminded me of a Sith Lord I knew about a hundred years ago or so. Perhaps I should be thanking all existing and non existing gods that she didn't have the Force at her disposal.

"Prince Durran!" Ollena gave me something that appeared to be a genuine grandmotherly smile.

I blinked at her still smiling. I couldn't sense subterfuge coming from her. She was actually glad to see me.

"Please be kind to an old woman like myself and ride with me the rest of the way." She did her best to look frail and fragile. While the Queen of Thorns was a rather small, gnarled little thing, she was anything but weak. Or frail.

"Margaery, be a dear and join us, dear."

Ah. Shit. This was going to be an interrogation so Ollena could decide if I would be good enough for her favorite granddaughter… and she would be doing her best to get me killed if I didn't make the cut.

"With Lord Tyrell's permission?" I asked Mace.

He looked relieved. "Naturally, my Prince. Be my guest. I'll make sure that your party have some refreshments." He waved me to enter the coach and excused himself.

Marrek, who got the reins of my horse before I dismounted wished me a quiet "Good luck." and smirked, the bastard. Yeah, riding with a stunning young woman who might very well be my wife. From his point of view I was a lucky bastard no doubt. Being grilled by Ollena Redwyne on the other hand…

Damn, I missed the good old days when I had to only deal with a galaxy wide war and could leave most of the politics to other people.

Moments later I was sitting on the bench across the two Tyrell women and the interrogation was ready to commence.


	6. Chapter 6: Of political marriages and other shenanigans

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.

Chapter 6: Of political marriages and other shenanigans

=Sith=

Part 1: Inquisition

=Sith=

=Durran=

A certain Coach,  
The King's Road  
Near King's Landing

Teenage hormones are going to be the death of me. Either that, a civil war or undead invasion, however the latter two hopefully wouldn’t happen anytime soon if ever. 

I got into the coach smiling brightly, and this time around it was mostly genuine too. Seeing Margaery again stirred Durran’s memories something fierce, like a mule kicked me in the arse for a good measure. Said memories kept flashing in front of my eyes, my heart beat faster… and bloody hell, the boy had the mother of all crushes to the Rose of Highgarden. All I could do initially was smile politely, accept the goblet of wine Margaery offered me and try my utmost not to droll like a bloody imbecile.   
It didn’t help at all that Margaery was a splendid specimen of the female persuation, who wore a form fitting thin dress that left practically nothing to the imagination… like she and her grandmother had undoubtedly intended. I had to use all my willpower to tear my eyes from her body and look her in the eyes, which didn’t help much. 

Think dark thoughts, about worlds burning, gods be damned Hutts, even the hell that was Korriban… 

I kept smiling politely as my raging hormones cooled down a bit as memories of a very different stripe flashed through my mind and took a cautious sip of the wine – Arbor Red, very good and just enough of distraction to allow me to regain a semblance of control before I could embarrass myself. 

“Ladies,” I beamed at my hosts. “Shall we have some utterly boring small talk as it is proper or should we dispense with it and speak candidly? After all, once we arrive in the city, finding places to talk without someone listening will prove tiring.” 

“That’s very forward of you, Your Highness!” Margaery gushed and leaned forward to stare at me with huge expressive eyes. 

I looked back and for a moment I lost myself in her gaze before kicking myself mentally, thought about Zash in one of her older bodies and that promptly dampened my raging hormones. The fuck was wrong with me? I needed to find out whoever or whatever stuck me into a teenage body and strangle them with their own intestines…

“I’ll admit I’m a bit less… subtle than the performance you’ve been doing for my benefit, Margaery, and while I admit I really appreciate the look, we both know you aren’t a star struck empty-headed maiden, don’t we?” 

Margaery’s smile never left her face, however she narrowed her eyes in my direction in mock outrage before leaning back in her seat and chuckling. 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Durran.”

“No, of course not!” I declared with a chuckle of my own. “You’re most certainly not trying your best to twist the head of this poor, impressionable young Prince, are you, my Lady?” 

“Is it working?” This time Margaery’s smile was genuine. She leaned forward, again and it took a lot of effort to keep my eyes on her face instead of looking lower, as she pushed her chest forward in a very enticing manner. 

“I can’t possibly comment, it would be ungallant of me.” 

Margaery pouted at me while her grandmother chuckled at our antics. 

“Playing hard to get, are we, Prince Durran?” 

“Lady Olenna,” I managed to tear my gaze from Margaery’s eyes to look at the Queen of Thorns and offered her a small respectful bow. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. You’re radiant as ever.” 

“Oh, only if I was a bit younger...” Olenna smirked at me while staring me down with eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Suddenly I was very, very glad that I wasn’t just a teenage Durran, because if that was the case, those two would have eaten me for breakfast and asked for seconds. Well, two can play this game.

“Margaery, as far as I’m concerned, you’re the most beautiful and smart maiden in all of Westeros.” I spoke in a voice as sweet as honey and stared at my potential bethroted with fiery eyes. “That said, those traits, as enticing as I find them, won’t be enough to get you pretty butt on a throne as my future Queen.” The smile bled off my face and I turned my gaze away from Margaery so my eyes could meet Olenna’s. While doing that, I took utmost care not to linger on Margaery’s curves, which were very… curvy at all the right places.

Damn, I needed to get laid already, however this being Westeros I didn’t dare try it. Even with the Force being tenatively back, who knew what I might catch if I went to sample the delights the best brothels in King’s Landing could offer. Nevertheless, having a good reason to be celebate for the time being or not, the fact that I haven’t been laid lately did me no favours in the current situation. 

“Of course not.” Olenna scoffed, though her smirk remained in place and her eyes continued to sparkle. “Though those traits will help you make up your mind.” 

It was my turn to smirk as I raised my goblet in a silent toast. 

“True enough, my Lady. Given the fact that I can’t escape a political marriage, finding a spouse who happens to be stunning and has a good head on her shoulders is preferable. That said, I can’t imagine that Margaery here is delighted at being showed off like a filly on a sale.” I nodded at my prospective bride while keeping my eyes on Olenna. 

“It is what it is. As women, we need to use all the assets we have available.” Lady Redwyne shrugged. She wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect, but it was what it was. 

“Nonsense, grandmother! I’m delighted at showing off my beauty!” Margaery declared with a demure smile. However, there was a hint of unease she was doing her best to stamp off, something that I would have never known if it wasn’t for my slowly returning empathic senses. 

When all is said and done, I shouldn’t have cared about it. As Olenna said, this was how things had been done for ages around here… and not just here. If it was anyone else, I likely wouldn’t have cared anyway. Still, this was Margaery and I had to struggle with a sudden and unexpected need to give her a hug. I almost laughed at that. Ladies and gentlemen, come and see the big bad Lord of the Sith, acting like a love-struck boy. 

I looked back at Margaery and studied her for a few moments while she stared back at me with a wan smile. On a second thought, she might indeed be happy to keep her beauty on display for everyone to see. It was the need to do it, the expectation of it, that she resented. 

I took a sip of my wine in order to by myself a few moments to order my thoughts and reinforce my control over my raging emotions. 

“Let’s get to it, Ladies. Let’s talk politics.” I turned my undivided attention to Olenna. 

“You’re bold.” The Queen of Thorns stated with approval. “I like that. It’s refreshing. What do you have in mind, Your Highness?”

“If practical, I want a worthy Queen who will rule beside me.” At my words, Margaery stared at me in shock, her composure finally cracking. “What does the Reach expect to gain from Margaery becoming a Queen?” I countered. 

“Why, that would be its own reward. I simply want what’s best for my ganddaughter.” Olenna answered with a genuine smile, while the lie slipped her lips with practical ease. It was a good one too, it contained more than a hint of truth after all. 

I saluted her with my goblet and offered a genuine smile of my own. As a Sith I knew very well how to deceive and mislead using nothing more than the truth… or as much of it as necessary to sell an useful lie. Outright lying should be kept for special cases after all; a reputation for honesty and inegrity, even among Sith could go a long way to make people underestimate you… and buy a lie when you absolutely needed to sell one.

I knew for a fact that Olenna Redwyne loved her granddaughter and wanted the best for Margaery. However, that simple fact couldn’t disguise another truth – the Queen of Thorns would be getting the best deal for House Tyrell and the Reach as a whole, in that order, she could get. 

“What do you want in a Queen, my Prince?” Margaery asked in a smoky voice. When I turned my gaze back at her, she was practically eye-fucking me. Gods, the things this woman did to my self-control… My mouth went dry as I stared back, my eyes full with dark, wicked promise. 

“Many things, my Lady.” I spoke and the Force sang through me, feeling the most alive and potent since I regained my connection with it. “However, with the world being as it is, unfortunately, its more about what the family of my future Queen could do for my dynasty than what I want myself. It’s the curse of the station we’re born in, as you very well know, My Lady.” 

Well, in the short to medium term anyway. In the long run, I had no intention on relying on a bloody feudal system, though no one needed to know that little fact. 

“And what would the family of your future Queen want in exchange for offering her?” Olenna asked, then peered at me like a hungry bird. “More importantly, what are you prepared to offer in exchange for the Queen you desire, Prince Durran?” Finally, she asked the right question. 

“Correct.” I nodded lightly. “And we’re back to square one. What does the Reach want to achieve in order to facilitate such a union between Margaery and me? What does House Tyrell require?”   
Olenna finally picked up her own golden goblet and drank from it. “I can think of a few concessions...” She trailed off. 

“What a coincidence, my Lady. That was what I was about to say.” I took another sip from my wine, finally allowing myself to pay it a bit of attention. It was actually quite good as expected. It was the type of wine you could down a few glasses of without even noticing and become a bit tipsy and unofcused unintentionally. To give credit where credit its due, it was quite devious. A point to the ladies.

I allowed myself another genuine smile. Now it was time to bargain in earnest. 

=Sith=

Part 2

=Sith=

=Durran=

A certain Coach,  
The King's Road  
Near King's Landing

My eyes roved around the couch, trying very hard to stay away from Margaery – she continued to be extremely, delightfully distracting. Everything in sight was covered in expensive fabrics, which were predictably embrodied with various flower motifs, though naturally golden roses were dominant. No surprises there. The seats were properly cushoned and rather comfortable – they could hardly get more comofrtable with the currently available technology. Still, if the couach moved with anything resembling respectable speed, the ride would be quite bumpy for anyone accustomed to modern vehicles. Unfortunately, that simply couldn’t be helped. 

“I can honestly say that I have no problem with your propositions, Lady Olenna.” I stated truthfully. It was another question if my father would approve. 

“That’s good to hear.” The old woman sounded rather pleased with herself.

Margaery on the other side kept her smile in place during our bargaining session, and if I didn’t know better I would have concluded that she was happy to hear how she was bartered by one of the closest people she had in the world. Instead of being angry, furious even, she was simply resigned even if she hid it splendidly. There was no outward sight that the conversation affected her at all, yet deep inside…

The echo of Margaery’s emotions I could sense made me both angry and sad, feelings I had to bury just like she did hers in order to continue these negotiations. 

“As you very well know, Lady Olenna, my agreement to your terms means little right now.” I spoke the obvious truth. “Coincidentally, I do have a few terms as well.” 

“Of course you do.” Olenna nodded while keeping her face expressionless. “We both know that any agreement my House reaches with the King will last for as long as your father is on the throne. All I want to make sure is that we won’t be forgotten once you inherit the throne, Your Highness.” That was actually a reasonable request.

“I’m sure Margaery won’t let my memory go.” 

“I’ll do my utmost to keep you on your toes, My Prince.” For a second time today, Margaery looked at me with lidded eyes, eye-fucking me and I could do nothing less but respond in kind. 

“I won’t forget my friends and more importantly, family, once I ascend to the Iron Throne, Lady Olenna, Margaery. That said I would appreciate House Tyrell’s assistance in a few ventures both before and after I become King.” Somehow I managed to keep my voice nice and steady, even as I was all but lost in Margaery’s gaze. 

No, Durran. That’s a bad boy, keep it in your pants and concentrate on the important negotiations going on! I shook my head and grudgingly broke contact with Margaery’s eyes.

“I’m all ears. I’ve heard some rather interesting things about your exploits lately, Prince Durran.” Olenna bid me to continue. 

It was really refreshing to deal with a noble who wasn’t afraid to dirty her hands with such mundane things like trade and manufacturing. Granted, some Lannisters, the Manderlys and a few others didn’t have such qualms, but as far as most nobles in the realm were concerned… Fucking feudalism.

“Let’s go with the short term issues first. I would appreciate any help you can offer in making a trade deal with Old Town. Considering your family’s connections in the area, any good word you put would go a long way.” 

“You want to print books for them among other things.” Olenna concluded. “I’m sure that the Maesters would be happy that books could be created so much easier now, however we both know they would prefer to be the ones actually doing it.”

“True. Until very recently, the Citadel, Old Town and the Faith, had monopoly on the creation of books, both new ones and copies of existing ones. I made a deal with my good friend the High Septon and I don’t foresee problems on that front.” By all accounts, he was a honest Septon – once bought, and caught red-handed in a brothel with young girls for good measure, he was my creature now. “The Maesters on the other hand might be reluctant to deal with a new competitor and we both know they will want to get into the printing business themselves. I would prefer to either avoid such an eventuality or have it happen at our terms.”

“You want to keep monopoly on the use of printing presses for the time being.” Olenna concluded. 

“At least initially.” I nodded in agreement. “In the fulness of time it won’t be hard for the Maesters to make their own printing presses. “I’m looking to make a deal with them, offering them plentiful paper at reasonable price among other things, in exchange, they will use my printing presses for a minor fee of course, among other things...” I didn’t bother to go into details at that point. 

The Queen of Thorns chuckled. “They won’t like that.”

“I do have a few other ideas that might sweeten the deal.” I shrugged. “I’m confident that with your backing we would be able to achieve a mutually profitable conclusion of this issue.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Once we’ve settled in the Red Keep I’ll send a few ravens. What else do you desire, Durran?”

“Backing for a controversal idea of mine. It has come to my attention that traveling across the King’s Road is less safe for merchants than desired.” Not to mention that all the main roads were apparently in a need of a gradual overhaul… “And that is when everything is peaceful. Once couple of Lords get into a spat and begin rattling their sabers, things become even more difficult.”

“That’s an unfortunate state of affairs, though nothing new or unexpected.” Olenna allowed.

“I have the idea of commissioning a small armed force, lets provisionally call them the Rangers. Their primary goals would be to police the King’s Road and hunt bandits in its vicinity.” They would act as a secondary secure courier network, spies, and more, but Olenna didn’t need to know that, merely suspect. “In the long run, they might be able to even pay for themselves in taxes thanks to merchants who aren’t molested by bandits.”

“While this seems like a prudent idea, a lot of Lords would see it as tramping upon their rights.” Olenna pointed out.

“The same Lords who aren’t adequately keeping bandits off the King’s Roads...” I let a bit of heat enter my voice. “That’s why I would want to attempt this idea first in the Crownlands and the Reach, potentially the Westerlands as well, if I’m able to sell the idea to my grandfather.” 

“Good luck with that.” Olenna chortled. 

“With the backing of the Crown Prince and the Tyrells, we should be able to sell this project to the Lords in our own lands.” I pointed out. 

“While not outright impossible, you’ll have to speak with a lot of Lords in order to smooth things over, Prince Durran.” Margaery added. 

“A lot of Lords, especially from the Reach, would attend a wedding between the Rose of Highgarden and yourself, Prince Durran.” Olenna offered. 

I smiled at Margaery. “The thought has crossed my mind, my Lady. Such an occasion would be a good time to talk with said Lords and reassure them that the Reach in general and House Tyrell in particular would have my support, now and forever.”

“I see. I’ll need to speak with my son. I believe he can get behind the idea if its presented to him in the right light.” 

"That's good to hear. The next topic I would like to discuss concerns us all, though it's much bigger problem for the Reach than some other parts of Westeros. Our Ironborn friends. They have been making trouble every few decades at best, not to mention the piracy in which the Iron fleet partakes. I don't care when they're attacking shipping from Essos, especially if it belongs to the slaver cities. However, they hit our own merchants even more often and that's not a state of affairs that I'm willing to tolerate once I'm King."

Olena Redwyne gave me a smile that simply didn't belong on a "sweet" old lady's face.

"Oh, Durran. That's an idea that would see most of the Reach backing you."

"Not just the Reach. I'll want at least the Lannisters and the North aboard for permanently dealing with that problem and that would take a lot of doing and negotiations."

"You mean doing so without giving even more power and concessions to Tywin."

"He's close to owning the Iron Throne as it is. That's another thing I would love to change."

"We have an understanding then. Is that all?"

"A few things might crop up later, but I can assure you they won't be affecting the Reach in an adverse fashion. One thing I believe I can help happen sooner is inducting Loras in the Kingsguard as soon as possible. To be frank, the only people in there I would trust with Margaery's well being are Ser Oakheart, who's been watching my back since I was a toddler and Ser Selmy. Most of the rest are either less than competent or my mother's creatures and Cersei won't be liking a marriage between myself and anyone who isn't from the Westerlands."

"You don't mean..." Margaery couldn't help herself.

"Mother's a Lannister and they would do anything to keep their claws in the Iron Throne. A match between the two of us is probably the greatest threat for their power ever since Cersei married my father."

"It's the Game of Thrones dear. It was to be expected. You two marrying would cement the dynasty's power, that much is true. It's also going to break the Lannister's hold over the throne if Durran so wishes."

"I won't be a pawn for my grandfather." It was left unsaid that I wouldn't be one for the Tyrells even if Margaery might have a lot of influence over policy if she played her cards right. Though that remained to be seen.

=Sith=

Interlude: Conspiracy theory

=Sith=

The Red Keep  
King's Landing  
They met in one of the few secluded chambers in the citadel that lacked ajianced secret passages, thus making any conversations held in there reasonably secure. Beside that, the room was lavishly and comfortably furnitured as it befitted a chamber in the royal residence.

First to arrive for the meeting was the Master of Whisperers, which was no surprise really. As a spymaster, participating in clandestine meetings was par for the course. He was just relieved that this one took place in a room with many comfortable chairs and benches, so he could sit up and straighten his back, which continued to hurt like nobody’s business. 

The second participant was more surprising. Strictly speaking, the Master of Coin wasn’t supposed to participate in such meeting, however in reality his presence wasn’t much of a surprise either. As the man who controlled many of the brothels in the capital, he had access to nearly unprecedented source of rumours and actual intelligence through his boys and girls. 

Varys broke the seal of a bottle of the finest Arbor Red and poured two coups of wine, while Baelish made sure no one had followed them and closed the door behind his back. Littlefinger finally sat across the table from his host, picked up his own goblet and sniffed the wine. 

“You wanted to talk privately.” The Mockingbird announced and carefully sampled his drink, concluding that it really was the best. 

“This is an interesting night.” Varys pushed his back against the tall chair, and sighed in relief as something cracked quietly and the throbbing pain in his spine lessened a bit. He picked up his own goblet and took a long pull of it.

“Isn’t it just. Still, the furor after what happened at the tourney is beginning to die out.” Baelish shrugged. He was still trying to figure out how to make the unexpected chaos work best for him.

“Durran’s men are mopping out what’s left of the unreliable Gold Cloaks as we speak.” Varys explained and Littlefinger froze in his seat, his right hand trembled, halfway raised to his mouth and it was miracle he didn’t spill his wine.

“I see. So the prince isn’t simply playing at trade and being a knight, is he?” Littlefinger’s tone was light, a stark contrast to how pastry he looked at that moment. 

“All that he has done over the past few months.” Varys smiled and drank a bit of wine. “All the things he has done lately, its simply amazing for a lad of one and five.” The smile twisted into one of wonder. “And wasn’t he lucky that dear Joffrey got sick in the North and perished so sadly… and conveniently...”

“That’s one way to put it.” Baelish allowed. “What do you know?”

“Know? Nothing in this case. What I suspect.” Varys tittered. “The question is what do you intend to do, my Lord?” 

It wasn’t like either of them believed in luck or trusted coincidences. They made their own luck, provided the useful coincidences they needed when they needed them. 

Baelish frowned, thinking back at everything that happened after Arryn’s “mysterious” demise. The sudden change in Durran, who had ever been content with his lot in life, the energy with which he began playing the game, the way he revealed the Wildfire Plot and how the lad profited from it… That quiet boy was fast becoming a worthy successor to his grandfather and that was anything but a good thing.

In a few short months, Durran had build himself a rather lucrative if relatively small business empire. Further, to people like Varys and Baelish it was obvious when someone was busy establishing their own spy network in a city they for most intents and purposes owned. The issue was that they so far found it nearly impossible to penetrate it, which meant Durran had a competent spymaster of his own. A lad of fifteen namedays simply lacked the knowledge and experience to do everything the Crown Prince was doing. He had to have powerful backers and advisers. The obvious one was Tywin Lannister, however currently that was a suspicion, not something that either Varys or Littlefinger could prove to their own satisfaction.

“Our dear Prince has backer, a competent one.” Varys was the one to state the obvious and get the ball rolling. 

“I’ve been pondering the same. Who do you think? Surely not Stannis?” 

“Unlikely. While there are concerns about Stannis, they’re of a different stripe. I’m sure you can guess my suspicions.”

“Tywin.” Baelish stated simply. 

“That’s bad enough. But this whole marriage idea and how its handled… That’s not how the Old Lion operates.” Varys shook his head, allowing himself to show some frustration.

“It’s a sham of course. We both know who is the most eligible maiden.” 

“No one can give the throne more than the Rose, yet I don’t believe the King would agree. He hates the Tyrells.”

“Such a match would secure the dynasty.” Littlefinger stated the obvious. Such a thing wasn’t in his best interest. He needed chaos and strife so he could climb the ladder even higher.

“If it goes through.” Varys said.

“There’s that. There are a lot of people, both ambitious and powerful, who wouldn’t want to let such a marriage go through.” Baelish smiled. 

=Sith=

That night, while Durran was recuperating under his mothers care and his men were finishing dealing with the Gold Cloaks, more than a few ravens left the Red Keep. They all were addressed to certain Lords all over the South, who were displeased by the status quo for one reason or another. Men harboring either ambitions in their hearts or still faithful to the Dragon.

Others went to men who wanted to see their daughters claiming the tittle of Queen, who hadn't been called to the capital by the Baratheon for that very purpose.

In the Stormlands, the ravens homed on Lords who resented that the Lord Paramountcy question hadn't been properly resolved since the Rebellion. Nobles who were eagerly looking at Storm's End and hoped to claim it as their own through a marriage to Shireen Baratheon, Stannis’ only child. That wasn't helped that their loyalties were divided between four Baratheons and more than a few powerful local Lords.

In the Reach, the ravens went to the powerful people who resented the grip, which the Tyrells had over them. Some like the Florents and Tarlys had reasons to dislike their Lord Paramount, believing that they would do much better job of it… not without reason too. What made that case even more interesting was that even at the best of times, the Tyrells could count as reliable no more than half of the Reach's strength. If Margaery became Queen, their position would be secured for a long, long time… and that was a state of affairs a lot of powerful vassals would not want to see come true.

A few Ravens went to the Vale, aimed at Lady Arryn and a few of the more ambitious Lords, who were eying the newly widowed woman as an opportunity to raise their stations.

Others flew to a handful of Lords in the Riverlands, especially to the Lord of the Twins. There were a few loyalists remaining in there as well.

None of those people would like to see the Lion of the West strengthening his grasp over the Iron Throne and the messages sent by friends in King's Landing implied that Durran was executing his grandfather's plans.

Finally, there were ravens stretching their wings towards Dorne. They carried the same message with a twist… to plant an idea – that the whole mess with the Mountain was a set-up to silence Tywin's bannermen and ensure that Tywin would never be really implicated or punished for the death of Ellia and her children.

Misdirection, betrayal and bloody knives in the night. Such is the Game of Thrones.

=Sith=

Part 3: Meet the future in-laws…

=Sith=

=Durran=

Small Council Chambers  
Red Keep  
King's Landing

Another day, another council meeting. For a change, father decided to attend.

"That's boring stuff..." Robert grumbled quietly.

"It's unfortunate that the Ironborn aren't making rebellious noises. That would put you in a good mood father. I'm sure that Lord Tyrell would love to remove that particular thorn in the Reach's side once and for all if they give us a reason to." I smiled.

Ned frowned my way. Obviously he didn't relish invading those islands for a second time in his life.

Mace Tyrell on the other hand gave me a long look, then laughed.

"You're your father's son, aren't you, Your Highness?" The Warden of the South stated.

"Despite my hair color, the Baratheon blood in me is strong." I confirmed.

That was something I heralded every time I had the opportunity to. Repeat a lie loud enough, for long enough and it could become the truth anyone would believe. Besides, for all I knew, Robert might actually be my biological father. Unless the local witchcraft or the Force were involved, genetics were funny that way.

At least I didn't have Joff's reputation working against me. If I ended in his body I would have had my hands full with doing damage control instead of working for a better future – for myself and mine of course.

"That's my son, all right!" Robert's voice boomed in the small chamber.

I grinned at him and nodded.

"As the King said, you have our reassurances about keeping both the Wardenship and Paramountcy in your family, Lord Tyrell." Eddard spoke tiredly. The whole Hand job was running him ragged. Considering that he had to look after the realm while Robert had fun, at least most of the time, wasn't doing the Northman any favors. At least after my encounter with the Mountain I had persuaded Robert to start training a bit by wanting to spar with him… He actually had his faculties at the time and reached the insightful conclusion that I could simply dance around him until he was wiped out – something that would take mere minutes at best – and wind easily.

Hopefully, that would help keep him alive for a bit longer and give me more time to built my influence and reliable forces. I wasn't naive enough to expect everything to go without a hitch when the time for the changing of the guard came.

Besides, some bonding by bashing each other with training weapons, combined with my other exploits could help him believe that I was actually his son if someone started heralding about Cersei and Jamie's indiscretions. With my luck, someone was going to catch those two idiots one of these days and all hell was going to break lose.

That's why I was in this horsetrading session – I hoped to ensure a marriage with Margaery ASAP. Once we had a heir, the Reach would be backing me, wanting one of theirs on the throne. Besides, once Margaery was a Queen, the Tyrells wouldn't care about my real parentage and any ‘truths’ would be labeled as slanderous rumors by ill wishers.

However, all that didn't mean that we were going to give the Tyrells everything they wanted without a lot of bargaining and making a good deal for ourselves. Besides, I had to meet the other suitable ladies first, or I risked snubbing some powerful nobles. Not a good thing in the long term. They tended to remember such things.

Robert sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Where are we anyway?"

Ned looked at his friend and kept his expressionless mask as he spoke.

"The Crown guarantees all privileges and titles of House Tyrell as well as a prompt response to any reaving from the Ironborn. Loras is to be inducted as a Kingsguard once we've done with the negotiations an a wedding date is set. A permanent place of the Small Council, held by either yourself, Lord Tyrell, or your heir, Willas. A Tax adjustment to be negotiated latter, when the Master of Coin is present."

"That's simply prudent considering that soon we'll be family." Mace smiled.

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. The man looked simply ridiculous with his green, supposedly fashionable clothes, red face, thin mustache and beard.

At least he wasn't sleeping with anything female in sight.

On the other hand, I've seen Nobles wearing even more ridiculous clothes back during my days in the Empire.

"We've all agreed on these points. The new trading agreements between the Reach, Crownlands, Stormlands and the North are next on the agenda, aren't they?" I asked, redirecting Robert's attention my way.

"Ah. Copper pinching nonsense again. I've heard that you've become quite good with that, son. So you and my Hand can deal with this. You're speaking with my voice." Robert waved at us and stumbled out of the room.

Relatives. Westerosi brand – I already wanted to kill most of them with a few notable exceptions. On days like these, Robert was rather high on that list too.

I looked at Ned and nodded. "My Lord Hand, what's your thought on the matter?"

I didn't need the Force to know that right now he wanted to bash his head on the table – right after strangling Robert.

At least Mace was enjoying himself. I looked at the man. On second thought he probably wanted to get out of here too, but his determination to see Margaery as the future Queen kept his behind firmly planted in the chair.

"With a long winter approaching..." Ned spoke.

=Sith=

The Gardens  
Red Keep  
King's Landing

Much latter that day, I was siting on a table next to Margaery, while Cersei and Olena as well as a few of their ladies-in-waiting or whatever they were called today hovered around us.

Chaperoning for the win. It simply wouldn’t do for Margaery and me to ravage each other before our wedding night. 

On the bright side, the negotiations with Mace failed to turn into an outright disaster, despite Robert getting out for a drink and bit of fun with the nearest busty servant in the middle of them, even though I didn't have so high expectations for said meeting.

Olenna was playing up her old frail woman role, trying to appear as a harmless grandmother. I don't think anyone on the table bought the act, though that didn't stop her from having fun with it. Cersei on the other hand was wearing one of her best red gowns, trying to appear every inch the Queen she was. I might have fallen for it if I didn't know better. After all, this was her preferred battlefield, besides the bedchambers I mean.

Margaery on the other hand… Well… She looked fucking awesome, emphasis mine of fucking… and my hormones were trying to turn me into a drooling imbecile, again. At least they had a great excuse. With the sun behind us, Margaery’s light summer dress was all but transparent, leaving nothing to the imagination. That, combined with my raging hormones, made it hard to concentrate and appear as anything but lust stricken puppy.

"Lady Margaery..." Cersei's all too sweet voice terminated my staring. I've heard that tone of voice many times before and not only from her. Oh, my. She was jealous. I glanced between the two women and had to hid a smirk. In a few years, Margaery would be the more beautiful of the two, though for the time being, Cersei did have a mature kind of charm that left behind my prospective bride.

That had to grate. For a long time, Cersei had been heralded as the most beautiful woman in Westeros… probably by bards she had paid but I digress.

"How do you like King's Landing? Would you enjoy it being you new home?" 'Mother' continued.

Margaery beamed at her. "It's certainly different. For example I quite enjoy the Red Keep and the gardens. However, I'll need to see more of the city to tell either way."

"That can be arranged." Cersei beamed.

Note to self. If Margaery leaves the keep, have at least a few of my men shadowing her to make sure no "accidents" happen. I had no illusions that Cersei wanted me to marry a proper Westerlands Lady and she would go to great lengths to achieve that. I thought about confronting her, though that would have sent her directly in Jamie's hands to find solace and fuck, so that idea was dashed almost immediately.

Those two were the greatest danger for me in the short term – if, or rather when they were finally caught fucking, I would be in a heap of trouble. I needed to have my power base and position secure before that happened or even better, find a way to separate them for the time being.

Or kill them. That was always in the cards. After the stunt with Bran I was ready to go ahead with my contingency plans then and there. I warned the idiots but they just had to go for a quick fuck, damn them both.

"I would love that."

"Perhaps I could show you around the city one of these days?" I smiled at Margaery.

She beamed at me, making my heart race.

Damn it, I really didn't know her after she grew up. I had no reason to act as a love struck puppy damn it!

That didn't stop me from feeling good about seeing her smile at me.

By the way she looked at me, I knew that Margaery was aware how exactly she affected me and she was tickled pink about it, the little minx.

"I would love that, Your Highness. It would be a honor." She simpered, like a proper Lady, breaking the spell.

Did I mention that I never had interest in proper westerosi ladies besides bedding them? At least I knew that Margaery had much more to her beside this front she was showing Cersei and the noble ladies around us.

Marrek would be laughing his ass off if he could see me now. The bastard was dealing with the fun stuff – shaping up the Gold Cloaks.

"That's a splendid idea!" Olena beamed.

I wondered if she had given Margaery instructions to get me into bed and fuck my brains out ASAP to all but guarantee the wedding happening. Not that I had anything against that idea – I was wondering if I could get away with doing that anyway.

"That might be for the best. There are some less than reputable districts you might want to avoid." Cersei nodded. "We wouldn't like for anything to happen while you're out exploring."

And from here on, the tea party was going to go downhill. I just knew it.

I discreetly took a hold of Margaery's hand and squeezed. First I liked the contact a lot. Second, it helped me keep myself from strangling Cersei as I wanted to do with Robert earlier.

=Sith=

Interlude: Old magic

=Sith=

Ancient cave complex  
Somewhere beyond The Wall

After decades of boredom and pain, the waiting was approaching its end. He could feel it in his bones – literally. The tree roots buried in his flesh were beginning to feed him a bit more power that strictly needed to survive in his current state.

Magic was about to return, so his visions told him. Soon, a red comet will rend the sky asunder, dragons would be reborn and nothing will be the same again...

The handful of beings, who seldom kept him company agreed with the notion. The glamors making them appear as harmless children were strengthening, becoming more solid.

Bloodraven knew that soon enough even he won't be able to tell the difference, even though he knew better.

For months all was well. Everything was going according to plan – pieces being set up across two continents, ready to play their part in the grand scheme of things. Further to the North, the Others were stirring, with a few of their numbers already awake and cautiously moving towards the Wall to gather intelligence and begin raising wights.

One of the last few Targaryen left alive, smiled. It wouldn't be long now.

When three Children of the Forest came into his "sanctuary", he was surprised.

He could feel it – they were furious.

"The pact is broken." One hissed. It appeared to be a young, cute blond girl, yet the blazing red-tinted eyes and the snarl on it's face betrayed the truth.

"A wielder has appeared." Added another – this time it was a boy with pale, almost Valyrian hair.

"The future is in motion." Chorused the third – a raven haired girl, with Stark features.

"All I've seen is as it should be." Bloodraven frowned. As far as he knew, no one to the south of here could affect the Pact even if they tried. To do so, people would need very powerful magic, the kind that was simply missing from the world.

"There are ripples." Sang the blond.

"The future changes." The boy glared at the human.

"A wielder has touched the cursed power." Added the Stark look-alike.

"Cursed power?" The former Watch commander frowned. "I don't understand."

The trio glared at him. Their red eyes looked straight into his shivered soul.

"Watch. See. The Abominations."

Sae he did. There was a man in black robes that caught the starlight as if made of silk. Shadows hid his face, making it invisible below the large hood he wore. All Bloodraven could make out of the figure’s features were two shining yellow eyes. There were three Children of the Forest facing that man, if it was a man.

"Leave. This is no place for men." The one in the middle snapped at the interloper.

Bloodraven could feel magic coiling around the trio, ready to strike at a moment's notice. More arcane power than currently existed in the world was at the disposal of those three guardians.

"You dare bar my way?" There was amusement in the strangely accented voice.

The leader frowned and tilted his head. Roots exploded all around the man, yet the soil below him remained undisturbed. They shot at him faster than a speeding arrow.

All of them shattered a meter away from their target.

That gave Bloodraven pause. He knew those roots. They were the like those buried into his flesh. Stone and steel were no match for their magic even as weakened as it was today.

"That's interesting trick. You'll be useful." The hooded man sounded unconcerned.

Bloodraven could feel the magic becoming oppressive as the Children gathered it around their small forms. The surrounding forest began whispering in anger. Trees creaked, as if attempting to move, they strained against the soil holding them in place.

"You've broken the pact. You're ours now." The trio chorused.

"You've got that wrong, fools."

The man raised a hand.

Many more, much thicker and stronger roots and branches shot his way.

The human made a dismissive gesture and the avalanche of enhanced bark shattered and flew away as if thrown by a hurricane wind.

The Children on the flanks moved, sending spheres of liquid fire and spears of ice at the interloper.

He laughed in delight as the earth around him tore apart and jumped to intercept the attack.

"My turn." He pointed an outstretched palm at the wardens barring his way. A torrent of sickly looking purple lighting flowed from his fingers. Roots sprang to life in a futile attempt to bar the attack. They lasted a mere second before shattering and burning.

Bloodraven could feel the trees they belonged to moan in pain.

The Children scattered, but the girl on the left, who was a mirror image of his visitor, wasn't fast enough. The lighting clipped her shoulder and sent her sprawling on the ground, screaming as if she was worked over on a torture rack.

The other girl snarled in fury and sent a lance of liquid fire at the man. He raised a hand and the attack flew apart as it hit an invisible shield. Then invisible force pulled up the girl and she started clawing at her throat as the air was chocked out of her lungs.

The boy roared in rage and sprang forward. The forest itself followed, surrounding him in a wall of branches and roots – all aiming at the intruder.

The man pulled his right hand from his robes. It was holding a small cylinder. Suddenly a crimson blade sprang to life from the device.

"I think I'll keep you. You'll be nice to experiment on." The man laughed and charged at the thorny whirlwind heading his way.

The vision ended, leaving Bloodraven panting for breath.

"There's another who can touch the cursed power." The boy glared.

"In the South." The girls chorused.

"He needs to die." They spoke as one.

=Sith=

Interlude: Gods of Light and Death

=Sith=

Melisandre's chambers  
Dragonstone

She knewt on the warm, rough floor. A blazing fireplace bathed her front in warmth. Sparks flew all around her, gently brushing her naked skin and silk night robe, yet leaving no mark.

As it should be. She was Melisandre, High Priestess of R'hlor! The fire was her blessing, the only lover she would be ever faithful to.

"Lord of Light! Come to me in this hour of darkness!" The Priestess chanted. "Give me Light! Show me the path!"

The flames roared and took the shape of a bald, regal looking man. His body was made of lava, yet it appeared to have the consistency of flesh.

"My faithful." The voice R'hlor echoed around the room. "You've seen the face of Darkness. An ancient enemy rises again."

"Show me the path! I'll do anything to follow your will!" Melisandre shouted in ecstasy.

She was truly blessed! This was the first time in living memory when the Lord of Light deigned to speak with one of his followers outside of visions!

"Go deep, bellow stone and water, through darkness until you reach the light. My fires would show you the way. There's a gift waiting for you, my most faithful. Lead Azoi Ahai there and you all shall have my blessing."

"I'm humbled, my Lord! I'm not worthy." Melisandre mumbled, shocked by her God's words.

"The night is dark..." The god paused.

"And full of terrors!" Melisandre exclaimed.

"Darkness has come to Planetos, my faithful. Prepare. Bide your time. Strike when the time is right. The stars shall bleed, the seas shall freeze. The dead shall rise in the North, yet another, even older, cursed power has awoken. The darkness from the stars is back, gathering its strength."

"I shall do your bidding, my Lord!"

"Go down through the darkness. Find the burning alter. As has it been written so it shall happen! A warrior shall draw the burning sword from the fire. As it was foretold so mote it be!"

The light became blinding, scalding.

And she saw. Hundreds, thousands worshipers of R'hlor marched through the desert, ready to do battle. They were met by lines upon lines of men in black uniforms, arrayed in cold, precise formations. They were gathered under strange flags – something resembling an irregular circle, embroidered on a deep blue fabric.

She could feel it. The very symbol reeked of darkness. It was suffocating the light of the noon sun that shone upon it.

"Look at them!" A man in midnight black armor stood atop a drestier and pointed at the marching faithful. "Madmen and sorcerers worshiping an abomination. LOOK AT THEM come! You know them! The same bastards who would burn everything you cherish and laugh at the dying screams of your loved ones! It ends today! These are the last ones! The faith of R'hlor dies with them! First rank step forward and kneel! Take aim!"

The dark worshipers shouldered strange, hollow spears.

The world ended with thunder and dark, twisted flames.

Melisandre screamed.

This had to be a lie! It couldn't be! It simply couldn't!

"Do you see, my faithful? Darkness comes to suffocate the Light. This will be the future unless my mortal followers do their duty. Both the Great Other and the Darkness are awakening. You destiny is to face and best them or the world would be cast in the long night." R'hlor's voice was gentle.

"I'll do anything, My LORD! I won't let that madness happen! I swear it!"

"I know, my most faithful. Find the Sword of Light and when the time comes, you'll have my blessing."

Melisandre was engulfed in the blazing light of her God and time stopped having any meaning. It embraced Melisandre, filling her with pure bliss.

Some time later, she awoke on the floor. The flames had died down to gentle fire, which kept her warm and comfortable.

A wicked smile appeared on her face.

"Stannis Baratheon, Azor Ahai reborn, Warrior of Light." She whispered. The old prophecies were true! Her God confirmed it! He blessed her above all others by gracing her with his very presence!

Melisandre jumped up, revitalized by the power of the Light. She had to find the path down and lead Azoi Ahai to his destiny!

Her joyful laughter echoed through out Dragonstone.

=Sith=

The House of Black and White  
Braavos

Deep below the temple, carved into the very bedrock that laid under the sea was a chamber drowned in perpetual darkness. It has been there long before Braavos was founded and it was the reason why the House of Black and White was built on that specific place.

It was a sanctuary for a certain kind of worshipers, a temple for the God of Death.

It was a place of prayer. Of the odd ritual, which seldom required a sacrifice.

It was one of a few locations that were still bathed in a certain kind of power. Even an ordinary human could almost feel the Dark Side in there.

It was one of a handful location, where those blessed with a fraction of the true power of heir god could receive the occasional vision of the future.

Today was one of those rare events. A Faceless Man was kneeling in front of a statue of a hooded man, who was said to have been the manifestation of their God, wielding unstoppable power.

The assassin could tell that something was different today, on the last day of his vigil before leaving for Westeros.

The temple was much colder than usual – despite the darkness, he could see frostbite forming on the stone around him. The deep shadows surrounding him were strange. He could swear that he could see them move from time to time.

A feeling of foreboding was growing in his heart.

His head snapped to the right and his fingers closed around the empty space where he usually kept a dagger, just in case.

Someone had whispered next to him. A woman.

The Faceless Man sprang to his feet as he heard more and more whispers, yet he was alone in the temple.

He could feel power surging all around him, almost thick enough to make him choke. The assassin felt cold wing blowing through his flesh. His vision became foggy, he blinked to clear his eyes and saw.

An ancient stone altar mad of black marble-like stone. It had cracked some time ago. He knew that the place had been left undisturbed a long, long time ago, yet there wasn't even a moth of dust he could see.

The altar was bare save for a pedestal flowing out of the stone. It held a cylinder a bit longer than a grown man's fist.

The vision shifted, pulling up – through stone and soil, until it passed through a lot of sand.

The Faceless Man found himself looking at an unfamiliar mountain range, close to a sea.

The fog dispersed, leaving him back in the temple. He felt that the vision was important. That he had to locate that chamber, reach the altar and retrieve the cylinder.

The Assassin straightened. The God of Death had spoken. He had a task to complete, even if he didn't know where to start looking. He didn't even know if that desert was in Essos or somewhere else.

=Sith=

Part 4

=Sith=

The Crowned Stag Tavern  
King's Landing

"I needed that." I sighed in pleasure after downing a mug of cool ale.

"That bad?" Marek asked.

My right hand man sat across the table, drinking Dornish wine. First it was the Septons and maesters… One in particular I couldn't decide if he would be a major pain in the ass and useful asset or both… Then… I groaned.

"It was one of those days." I muttered and looked around. The upper floor of the tavern was lavishly furnished as befitting a prince's watering hole within the city. It was secure too – the "bouncers" were our people, former Stormlands bannermen who were getting a bit too old to ride around all year long and bash in skulls, but didn't feel like settling down quite yet. There was a surprising number of people like that, who were all too eager to do some light work for their Baratheon prince. They were as loyal as you could generally get in this kind of society.

I took a sip from my drink, lamenting that I was unlikely to taste Corellian Ale or other good stuff any time soon, though at least the local beer was drinkable. I placed my mug back on the long table we were sitting around and relaxed in my padded armchair. My sight danced around the few statues and stuffed animal heads decorating the walls. It was all for show of course – good to impress various nobles and wealthy merchants with how well off my enterprises were working out for me and my people.

"Why aren't you with a certain lady? Rumor has it that she's quite taken with you."

"Really? I can't tell how much it's the prospect of becoming a queen, training in politics by her grandmother…" I trailed off. "Things used to be simple, you know."

"Well, I used to be a bastard without good prospects, then I won a certain tournament and everything got much more complicated." Marek smirked. He took a long gulp of his wine. "You're to blame for both our fortunes. Misfortunes too." My friend grinned.

Well, he was more right than he suspected, that's for sure.

"Besides, what's the problem with your lady friend?" Marek grinned. "I'm well aware you know what to do with a woman..." He shook a head at the memory.

"Those were the days." I chuckled and thanked the Force that Durran hadn't caught all the STDs on the continent the few times he and Marek went drinking and whoring, before I ended up replacing him. "How's the guard shaping up?" I changed the topic. I didn't need another reminder of what my hormones were screaming about too. Being a randy teenager once again sucked goat balls.

"Decent-ish. We've been removing the death wood as fast as possible and now have about four hundred left in the city."

"That few?" I winced. There were thousands of Gold Cloaks before our little clean up.

"I ended up shipping another three hundred to the wall." Marek shook his head as if he still couldn't believe it. "I've seldom seen greater bunch of corruption and incompetence concentrated in one place. In our fucking capital no less."

"It's nothing like the stories, is it?" I chuckled. I had it on a good authority that whoever had been spared the misfortune of visiting the city simply knew that King's Landing was a great place with a lot of opportunities.

The latter was becoming true as I was doing my best to slowly industrialize the damn place, but let's be honest here – most of the place was a damn hellhole ripe for an epidemic.

"Anyway, when we finally cleaned up house, there were three hundred people left we could count on. A hundred or so decent new recruits with experience. There are couple of hundred more, who can be useful once we train them properly and break them off some bad habits. That's it, Durran. I sent the worst to the wall or the dungeons, but I had to kick out a lot of useless louts." Marrek spoke morosely.

"Start advertising that there are a lot of open spots for young lads who are willing to train hard. There are hundreds of thousands people in this city. You'll have to train them from scratch, but I think you'll find enough willing to try."

"Warm bed and three good meals a day, besides the odd stag as pay? I think we'll get enough volunteers. Training them will take time and they will be greener than grass." Marrek warned.

"Can't be helped. Just make sure that they're people who will work for us, not for the first bastard who tries to buy them."

"I'll be doing my best. You know that there will be some rotten apples no matter what we do, right?"

"Unfortunately." I finished my ale. "I don't expect miracles, my friend. Just that you continue being your very effective self."

"Thanks. I think. I know what's the reward of a job well done, you know." Marrek quipped.

"Well, if you insist I'll find you something harder to do so you won't get bored."

"I'll pass. What were you up to today?"

I grabbed the jug with ale and filled up my mug. My mind flew back to my first meeting for the day.

=Sith=

Part 4

=Sith=

The Great Sept of Baleor  
King's Landing

I was starting to hate churchmen. Maesters too, and right now I was meeting both.

Pycelle had somehow crawled all the way here along with a pair of new arrivals from Old Town. There were three Septons too and all of them were giving me various interesting looks from their places around the round table we were sitting at. From greed, disbelief all the way to admiration.

"Are you sure, Your Highness?" Pycelle asked in a weak voice. He sounded quite ill.

"I think it's a splendid idea!" Septon Felix beamed. He was quite the large man, though in contrast to the High Septon, there was a lot of muscle I could see under his robes, even if he was slowly turning into a large ball of fat. Just like father… 

On the other hand, Septon Joakim looked dubious. The way I understand it, he was in charge of making sure that all new texts written about the Faith reflected the proper doctrine. The big question was if Joakim was a true believer or someone placed in the position to serve the men running the Faith of the Seven in Westeros so he wouldn't rock the boat. Figuring that out would help me maneuver him towards my desired goals.

"What you suggested, Your Highness, sounds great." Joakim's expression contradicted his words. "However, making sure that all those new books don't have any doctrinal mistakes or aren't written in a way that can confuse them on important points… We can't risk people's souls by doing anything hasty."

He was choosing his words well. I couldn't tell if he was against the idea because it might bury him and his people in work, because he wanted a bribe or if he was truly concerned with saving people's souls. I examined the thin, stick like man. He was quite different from most Septons I've seen. No expensive clothes, no visible jewels or excessive overweight.

Yet, that by itself didn't mean that Joakim was the local equivalent of a true believer.

I had to fight a frown that threatened to twist my face in a distasteful grimace. When I had full access to the Force, dealing with such matters was much easier. While just mind tricking people left and right was often counterproductive, the insight that my power gave me was incredible in negotiations. With just the trickle I was receiving right now, correctly sensing people's emotions, especially when they weren't broadcasting their feelings was almost impossible, at least without spending a lot of time around them. It was much easier if I was alone with a couple of people nearby, however with this group and their aides in the room, properly distinguishing whose emotions I was feeling was a chore at the best of times. 

"What exactly is your concern, Septon Joakim?" I asked politely.

"Saving people's souls of course! We can't expect dim peasants to read books on the Faith and get everything right!" He exclaimed.

Oh, my. Was that bigotry mixed with true belief? Dealing with Joakim might prove to be harder than anticipated.

"Well, that's why simple books can never replace a Septon or a Septa!" I declared, trying to sound pious. Let's not even insinuate that something that I might do might make them obsolete. There were few better ways to win the Faith as an enemy. "Besides, eventually they won't be as dim as right now. After all, in order to better spread the Faith through books, people would need to read." I turned my attention to the Maesters.

"Your school idea." Pycelle groaned. "It's good… as an idea. Commendable even."

The other Maesters nodded vigorously.

"However, there are some practical problems, you might not be aware of." He continued.

"Of course there are! There's a reason why I requested this meeting with you all!" I waved my hands at the gathered men. "Esteemed people of Faith, some of the best Maesters the Citadel has." I nodded at the two groups.

"We all know that there are a lot of places within the Seven Kingdoms, where people pay the Faith lip service at best."

"Or they're heatens!" Joakim growled.

"Or that." I nodded. "Thanks to my printing press we all are offered some opportunities."

"Please, do tell." Felix gave me an indulgent smile.

"We all have certain problems and now some new solutions. The Faith," I nodded at the Septons, "Needs to save as much souls as possible."

I got a three grim nods. The last Septon, Trant, had been quiet so far. He was a tall balding man with the build of a former soldier. His missing left arm made his former career almost a certainty.

"The Citadel, is dedicated to spreading and preserving knowledge." Killing dragons and eradicating magic too, but that wasn't the time and place for this conversation.

"All very proper and commendable pursuits, which unfortunately have many obstacles in front of them."

"True enough." Trant spoke for the first time. His voice had a raspy quality to it, signifying a possible nasty lung wound in his past. "What are your problems, Your Highness and how do they mesh with ours?"

"Very good question." I gave a respective nod to the man. "My biggest problem is that the realm is under crippling debt, one that I'll have to repay once I'm King. In order to do that, lately I've been doing my best to earn golden dragons and make the realm more prosperous in the process."

"How is that relevant?" Joakim asked.

"Very." Felix gave a long suffered look to his colleague.

Trouble in paradise, eh? It was something to keep in mind.

"I have a printing business. It needs to grow and earn more money so one day I don't have to sell my throne to the Iron Bank or my grandfather."

Most of the people in the room winced as I put it so bluntly. "One of the best ways to do that, is to have more people who can read. It would be even better if they could afford books, but that would take a lot more time and effort."

"That's why you want to sponsor schools in King's Landing." Maester Alex, the tallest of the new arrivals nodded.

"Among other things. Doing so will have a lot of long term benefits. More potential Maester candidates, more people suitable for various offices working for the Crown or as some other trades."

"Many smallfolk won't benefit from learning to read. It would be a waste of time." Joakim grunted.

"For some, that's true." I nodded. "For others, not so much. Besides, I personally see it as a benefit. Good for the soul. After all, the first thins that will be printed in a real bulk will be things that would strengthen their faith." I smiled.

Joakim muttered something too quietly for me to hear.

"We simply don't have the people to staff many schools. Just a few will be stretching us." Maester Garand, who was a head shorter but had much broader shoulders than his colleague, interjected.

"That’s unfortunate. On the other hand, the Maesters staffing the schools would be able to see who the brightest lads are and if they prove good enough offer them sponsorship in trying to become Maesters themselves. Eventually that would help bolster your ranks I think."

"Not a bad idea." Garand nodded. "However it will be and expensive one."

"Yes. Certainly in the short term. In the long, our efforts might pay for themselves, though that's a benefit we won't be enjoying soon. I'll offset some of the financial blow by providing a stipend for the best lads. Perhaps a minor discount in the books we'll be printing for the Citadel?" I smiled.

Damn it, I needed to find myself a good negotiator for these things. While I had few decent folks running my printing business, they weren't the most charismatics or frankly really a people persons. Besides, a few things could substitute for my rank in meetings like these.

"That's a good idea." Alex mussed. "After all, spreading knowledge is one of the reasons we exist. We can't really object to the opportunity to open schools."

Pycelle started looking greenish. All those changes weren't good for his health. "How many people do you expect would let their children attend?" He asked.

"A lot. We'll be providing a meal or two for the kids. That I recon would be a good incentive."

"Who would pay for that?" Felix asked.

"I will." Really, that was going to be a drop in the bucked compared to my other projects. Still, a major problem I had was the insufficient number of literate people for the Imperial bureaucracy I was planning to establish. Hell, it was hard to actually find enough such people for the various projects I had either running or in the planning stages. After all, I knew that I didn't have the knowledge to directly start an industrial revolution. However, I knew the basic principles, I knew in what directions to point people. The rest was a question of money and time.

Unfortunately, both of those resources were rather finite. I could afford to work on only a fraction of my lucrative ideas for the time being and my liquid assets were quickly drying up.

Kriff it, there were too many things to do and not enough time!

"What do you hope to accomplish?" Felix asked.

"The first thing I want is to see is the creation of a comprehensive book on the Faith for every family, one they can read of course. A more enlightened population in the long run, that is something which will help the Realm, facilitate the spread of knowledge and its preservation too. A wealthier population, with more money to spend, which in turn will mean more revenue for the Kingdom as a whole."

"And your business interest in particular." Trant added.

"It's always good if my people have more money to spend. Yet, those are long term plans." I waved at the assembled people. "This is just a humble beginning for a long term plan." I smiled at them.

"How does that help the Faith? How does it help us save people's souls?" Joakim stared at me.

This was going to be tricky. I fully intended to make an use of the Seven, though I didn't want to make them too powerful. Not before I had enough people on the inside – a long term project in itself.

"I'll be supporting and increase of the numbers of Septons and Septas, building of new Septas around the Realm too. After all, it would be prudent for my people to have people of the Faith nearby to consult about any theological concerns."

"That's something we can get behind." Felix stated. "However, it won't be easy or simple."

"It would be very expensive too." Trant added.

"Yes. Something which will be a big problem given the financial straits of the Seven Kingdoms. To be fair, I do propose that we start small. As we help the Realm prosper, there will be more and more funds available for various projects..."

Of course, they weren't ready to agree just yet. There were still hours of haggling and horse trading to suffer through… and then I had a meeting with certain guild-masters.

This was going to be on long day.

I took a deep breath and continued the negotiations.


	7. Chapter 7 Parts 1-3

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective copyright owners. This story is written without profit in mind. I make no money from it.

Chapter 7: The great game

=Sith=

Part 1

=Sith=

The Red Keep  
King's Landing

The Westerosi equivalent of a date was quite weird and awkward – there were so many damn chaperones that it wasn't even funny. First, there was a small flock made of ladies in waiting who were trailing us. Ser Oakheart, who despite his still bad arm was my preferred Kingsguard bodyguard, walked a few paces behind us, chatting quietly with Loras Tyrell.

There were at least a dozen Stormland and Reach guards in sight, with the odd man in Lannister red hanging out here or there just for colour. It was like they didn't trust us or something… Well, anyone who paid attention would do their damned best to ensure the two of us lovebirds won’t end alone together for any meaningful amount of time because if that happened, the odds were excellent we wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off each other.

I looked at Margaery, who gripped my left arm as if she wanted to keep it. She looked amazing under the rays of the setting sun that bathed the gardens, which incidentally made her southern dress practically transparent… That was a trend with her and I was sure it was no accident. My teenage hormones surged again and I concluded that the powers that be – Cersei, Olenna and even Stark, damn him, were bloody right in arranging us such a company, even if one of them would be tickled pink if we ended in bed anyway.

"How's Willas?" I asked.

We spent most of the "date" discussing safe topics and mostly catching up. Thanks to Durran's memories of friendship with the energetic little girl Margaery used to be, I found myself eager to learn how she had spent the last few years. Her oldest brother too, who had become a friend during my short-lived fostering in the Reach before Renly’s preferences became a public secret.

"He could be better." Margaery frowned. "His leg has been giving him more trouble than lately and the Maester hasn't been much help."

I winced. I was a spectator to that ill-fated tourney, where Oberyn expertly de-horsed the younger man. Willas fell hard and shattered his leg badly, because his unfortunate horse landed on him. It was no surprise that without at least an x-ray the Maester was only able to save the leg but couldn't restore it to anything resembling full functionality.

"I hope he'll be all right." I sighed. You'd think that after eight thousand years of civilization, Planetos would be in a better shape. "Did he stop brooding? His letters weren't clear on the subject."

"Not really." Margaery pouted cutely. "He's been spending most of his time enclosed in the library, trying to figure out what he wants to do."

For a noble raised in the warrior centric culture of Westeros, being crippled in any way was a big blow. It hit Willas especially hard, because he had aspirations of becoming one of the greatest knights in the land and from what I saw he actually had enough talent to make a credible attempt.

"What were you up to lately? You haven't written in months." Margaery gave me a disapproving look.

Oops? Really, after ending in Durran's body, writing letters to his associates had been very low on my priority list. Dealing with my family shenanigans took priority.

"There weren't any ravens available during my trip north and back. Sorry about that. And I have been rather preoccupied lately – I've been trying my best to learn how the kingdom is run and that's been taking all my energy… Then there was that mess with the Wildfire...” We both cringed at the thought of how close King’s Landing came to going up in green fire.

"Just don't make a habit of ignoring me again." She gave me a wry smile. "What exactly are you busy with? I've heard all kinds of rumours…" Margaery trailed off and gave me a pointed look. “And when are going to tell me all about this wildfire mess? Did you really help carry it out? How did you figure out that there was wildfire below the city...” Margaery began shooting questions while her eyes shone with excitement. 

"This and that. Good or bad rumours?" I hedged, valiantly avoiding the wildfire topic.

"Depends on who tells them. Or who's listening. A Prince dabbling in trade. That's quite the scandal in certain circles."

"Running a kingdom is expensive." I shrugged. "Despite what some people think, money doesn't just appear in the treasury when you need it."

Margaery hummed in response. It sent pleasant shivers up my arm.

Down, boy.

"You promised to show me the city." Margaery changed the topic.

"I'm actually not very keen on that. You won't like it."

"How so?"

"Margaery, there are a lot of things to be said about King's Landing and none are flattering. I'm afraid if you really see the place; you'll be running back to Highgarden and never look back."

"That bad? What I saw when we arrived..." She trailed off once more and gave me a look demanding explanation.

"We did pass through the somewhat decent parts. Most of the place is an utter mess that would require more money that can be spared any time soon to fix. It's nothing like Highgarden."

There were very good reasons why Durran wanted nothing to do with the capital and was tickled pink with the idea of marrying and being a lord anywhere but here.

For me on the other hand, that really wasn't an acceptable alternative if I wanted to live in some decently civilized place eventually, not to mention the scheduled un-dead invasion.

I returned my attention on Margaery, trying very hard to ignore my raging hormones. So far, she had been a breath of fresh air and nothing like one would expect of most Southern ladies. Given the way and environment they were raised in… Most of them weren't people I could see myself spending any time with or really tolerating. Fuck Westeros and its brand of medieval shit.

Margaery on the other hand… She was a bright girl, very intelligent, ambitious and not suffering of most pitfalls of the local nobility. I had to thank Olenna for that.

Still, there was a certain awkwardness between us. When all was said and done, while I was stuck in a teenager's body, I was anything but. To be frank, if it wasn't for the political ramifications and bad blood, the only potential bride I would be considering would be the Martel's girl – Arriane. She at least was a grown woman and the Dornish sensibilities were the closest thing to more or less familiar culture on this backwards planet.

Given all the shenanigans and the game of thrones I was forced to play, that simply wasn't practical. I needed the Reach to stabilize the kingdom for the coming invasion, which meant Margaery as a queen.

At least Margaery was smart and very, very cute.

Damn it, down boy!

=Sith=

Part 2

=Sith=

Durran's quarters  
Red Keep  
King's Landing

I dragged myself to my bed and fell on the mattes without bothering to get out of my clothes. All things considered, it was a decent day, until dinner that is. The snipping between Cersei, Olenna and Margaery, while entertaining was ringing all kinds of alarm bells in my head. It was an even bet who was going to assassinate whom first – a headache I really didn't need right now, but I guess it couldn't be helped.

I froze when something familiar brushed my senses. It was like an echo of the Dark Side and it was right here, in the apartment with me. I surged up, rolling to land on my feet with my back to the wall next to the bed. My hand fell to my belt and gripped the dragon-bone hilt of my Valyrian steel dagger as my eyes started scanning the room.

"Good senses, Your Highness." A cheerful male voice came from the next room, which was incidentally connected to a terrace big enough for half a dozen people to comfortably have dinner on.

"Who the hell are you and how the fuck did you get in here?!" I growled.

"This one is your humble servant." The man spoke in a manner that made me even more uneasy.

I was considering calling for the guards, when he spoke again.

"This one brings what you requested."

"And what is that?" I asked. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. If he was one of the Faceless men bringing my egg, then I certainly needed to overhaul my security much sooner than anticipated and that was going to be a bitch to pull off.

A nondescript man, wearing the garb of a palace servant came into the room, carrying a large basked – its contents were covered by a large linen cloth. He gave me a smile that didn't touch his eye and revealed a quite large ellipsoid form that at first look appeared to be made of rock.

It was my egg or a decent imitation.

"Really? You bring it here? Do you expect that I'm carrying your payment on myself all the time?" I scoffed. Oh, the reason why the faceless broke into my quarters was clear – he was sending some kind of message and I doubted that he was just trying to intimidate me in order to ensure getting the promised gold.

"This one merely follows the contract. We expect the payment within two days."

"You'll have it." I promised. There was no point in antagonizing the assassin, when I wasn't sure if my body was up to the task of taking him on. I've improved since my return from the North, but there was just so much that could be done before I either finished growing up or found a way to increase my access to the Force.

Being so vulnerable wasn't something I was used to feeling since I became a real Sith.

"This one is glad." The man gave me a small bow and stepped back into the other room. For a second the feeling of the Dark Side grew stronger, before it vanished completely.

I stared at the egg and relaxed a bit. I was reasonably sure that the man had left the same way he got in – something that needed looking into. Further, what was with the Force signature upon the assassin?! One thing was for certain, the Faceless got my attention and I doubted it was in a way they anticipated.

I shook my head and carefully stalked into the other room, looking for any nasty surprises or a sign of other uninvited guests. After a few minutes of futile examination, I did my best to block the widows and the way to the terrace, then get back into my bedroom and did the same with its doors. No one ever died from some healthy paranoia.

When I was reasonably secure from further uninvited guests, I returned my attention to the egg. Naturally I spent some time checking for traps and other unpleasant surprises, using a pair of leather gloves just in case.

Finally I took a hold of my dagger and placed a hand upon the egg itself, trying to feel something.

A smile tugged my lips. It was tiny, distant echo, but I got an impression of leathery wings flapping through the air. Of summer warmth and burning fires.

More important was the sense of power that I could perceive from the egg. This wasn't a fossil carrying a mere echo. It wasn't a stone replica, but the real thing. I could feel it, I could feel her sleeping, waiting for someone to awake her. I closed my eyes and concentrated, pushing a probe made of the Force into the egg, brushing it gently over the being laying dormant and safe inside. There was a moment of recognition, and something snapped into place. The dragon within stirred and the egg pulsed with warmth before settling down.

I smiled and gently brushed the surface of the egg, marvelling at the feeling. She was fire, she was might, she was life and she gently shone in the Force.

That was the good news. Now how the kriff was I going to hatch her? Granted, burning certain traitors might do for a sacrifice, if it was even necessary, but what else? Did I need Valyrian blood? Could I cheat using the Force? Could I control a dragon once hatched?

Very good questions, however I lacked answers.

I frowned at the egg. It was a potential game-changer, though it was going to be a pain in the ass in certain respects. I really wasn't looking forward to explaining how I got myself a baby dragon, yet I needed the egg hatched as soon as possible. The moment we touched through the Force, any thought about delaying any longer than absolutely necessary became untenable.

I concentrated, forcing my will upon the tiny, tenuous connection I had with the Force. It took me more than a minute to gather enough energy into the palm of my hand, something that should have taken a mere thought and a single moment. Then I gently rubbed the top of the egg, guiding the energy to go to the creature within. It touched the slumbering dragon and the egg pulsed with heat and life as the little one absorbed the energy.

For a moment nothing else happened, then the egg grew warmer and I felt the energy within pulse once, releasing a wave of heat like a summer. The dragon stirred within shifting and I got the sense that she was now warmer and more comfortable than she had been in ages.

Then, before it rested again in slumber, a single thought pulsed through the egg, up my arm and struck me speechless.

“Awake me, father.”

The hell just happened?!

=Sith=

Part 3

=Sith=

=Tywin Lannister=

Casterly Rock  
The Westerlands

Tywin Lannister sat alone in his solar and brooded. An untouched cup of Dornish wine sat forgotten on his desk beside an open letter marked with the unmistakable scratches that passed for the writing of his eldest son. A few months ago, Jamie rekindled the hope that Tywin might get his heir back after all that time. Instead, both that foolish boy and the oaf he helped put on the throne at the end of the Rebellion decided to gleefully spite him. 

At least this time the utter disappointment that was Jamie came with a thin silver lining – the whole realm now knew that the foolish boy had an excellent reason to gut the Mad King. If only Jamie had said something on that fateful day in King’s Landing… Tywin closed his eyes, rubbed his temples and growled in frustration. Why, oh, why did his children had to compete to show who was the greatest disappointment?! Was it so hard to say a few sentences worth of explanation?! Just a few words would have seen Jamie hailed as one of the greatest knights and heroes Westeros has ever seen. After that, it would have been easy to release the foolish boy from the oath forced upon him by that cunt Aerys and Tywin would have had his heir back to mold into the proper future Warden of the West. 

Instead that fool kept his mouth shut and now, that the truth finally came out, his reputation was forever tarnished. People no longer called Jamie Kingslayer with derision, now he was the Golden Fool… that at least wasn’t something anyone would dare repeat twice in the Westerlands after Tywin made an example of those two bards in Lannisport last week, however the damage was already done. 

Jamie the fool, oh how apt that description was... Cersei, little his princess, now Queen, who thought herself much smarter than she really was… and then the dwarf… Tywin nearly chocked in rage as he sat and seethed thinking about his children. 

Kevan’s children were little better – Lancel, another golden fool, his two younger sons, who were cast in Jamie’s mold, thinking only about swords and combat, which while of use, didn’t help Tywin’s predicament. 

Stafford’s eldest son was a good knight, good soldier, but he lacked what was needed to run the Westerlands, at least his two sisters would make for excellent betrothals and alliances when the opportunity presented itself. While there were various more distant relatives carrying the Lannister name, there simply wasn’t anyone among the younger generations that Tywin could comfortably entrust the future to. His dark gaze fell upon the last letter he received from Jamie, another flat out refusal to be the heir and do his duty… 

Where did that leave the Westerlands? If Joffrey didn’t have the temerity to get sick and die in the North, Tywin would have moved heaven and the seven hells to get Durran named as his heir, then the Stormlands could go either to Stannis and his get or Tommen, he really cared not. Perhaps both of them, a marriage between Tommen and Shireen might wrap up that issue nicely, but it did nothing to solve his current problem. Tommen… the boy was too nice, too soft to be Tywin’s heir. 

The less said about Genna’s get the better. While there might be a handful of her spawn who weren’t good for nothing, there was no way in the seven hells that Tywin would let a Frey of all people get his hands on the Rock. 

Where did that leave him? He wasn’t a young man, he might not live long enough to marry and properly raise another heir. The same was true about waiting for Durran to marry and have a hair and a spare. And while Kevan was a few years younger, he wasn’t a leader, he was follower. He would be good enough to put the polishing touches on someone Tywin trained himself and help them transition to power while they grew up into their position, however after the way Lancel and his younger boys turned out… Left to his own devices, Kevan was going to raise another knight, not the Warden that the Westerlands needed. 

Tywin grit his teeth and finally grabbed the so far untouched goblet with wine and downed it all, not bothering to even taste it. 

There were simply no good options left… and if he had to be honest with himself, after this last tantrum, Jamie proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that even if he got released from his position in the Kingsguard, he wasn’t suitable as an heir. His golden son, his pride and joy… bah…

Where did this leave them all? A grotesque dwarf content to whore his days away and drink himself in an early grave. It didn’t really matter, the bannermen would never follow a dwarf. At best it would be just a few years after Tywin died before the Westerlands burned, he knew it in his bones. 

And this was simply unacceptable! Tywin shook with rage for one endless moment before forcing it down until only cold, calculating clarity remained. He needed an heir, a proper heir. Barring that, he needed to ensure the security of the Lannister name and the Westerlands until one could be produced and raised. The way he saw it, he had three options, none of them particularly good or guaranteed to work, because the odds were good he would run out of time sooner rather than later. 

First, he could marry, again, even if he loathed the idea. Then if he fathered another son, if said son lived long enough and was whole, if he didn’t prove to be a disappointment and if Tywin himself lived long enough to shape him as the heir House Lannister needed…

Too many ifs. 

Second, if he finally managed to get Tyrion married, if that hell-spawn who murdered his Joanna managed to produce a whole heir, a boy who wouldn’t be a disappointment, and again, if Tywin lasted long enough…

Third, by all accounts Durran was shaping to not be a disappointment. Everything Tywin had heard about his second grandson over the last few months filled him with pride. Perhaps a second son of Durran, of the future King, could fill the bill. In that case, perhaps Durran himself might do his duty to House Lannister even if technically he was a Baratheon… 

Tywin nodded to himself. Too many ifs, too many uncertainties. He had to marry, soon. The dwarf had to marry, and in any case, he had to go to King’s Landing, evaluate Durran himself, and perhaps entrust the future of House Lannister to him in case he ran out of time… or fathered another disappointment. 

Decision made, Tywin pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and began writing a new will. Once he was done, he would have Kevan and Genna act as witnesses before sealing it. 

=Sith=

=Daenerys=

The Green Sea  
Essos

For weeks now she rode in a daze, paying little to no attention to the world around her. Her whole body hurt, and not just because she still wasn’t accustomed to riding this long and hard. Even the physical pain of doing her duty as a wife paled in comparison to the anguish she felt ever since the morning after her marriage to Khal Drogo… when not only it became clear that someone stole one of her precious dragon eggs that Magister Illyrio gifted her, but news from King’s Landing reached Pentos just in time for her to hear them before the Khalazar left. 

A lifetime of lies and broken dreams hurt worse than every sore and bruise she now carried.   
All the stories Viserys told her about their father, they were lies, Daenerys knew that now. It took a long time but eventually Jorah Mormont, the gruff Northman who swore to protect her, confirmed it. The smallfolk, the nobles, the traders and craftsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, they didn’t wait with baited breath for the Targaryens to return so they could raise up in their support against the Usurper. Certainly not! If anything, everyone but madmen in Westeros cursed the Targaryen name, and with a good reason…

Her father, the Mad King, her brother, the Mad Prince, and finally, Dany herself, sold to barbarians and sullied by her husband. There was nothing left for any of them in Westeros. If Drogo actually gave an army to Viserys, the whole continent would raise up against them, they wouldn’t suffer insane Targaryens to rule them again. 

That revelation all but broke her. Her only comfort were her dragon eggs, which in reality were very expensive and pretty stones. 

What was her father thinking when he decided to burn a city of half a million souls to ashes? What did her brother think when he went out and kidnapped the daughter of a Lord Paramount? What did her father think when he burned Rikard Stark and murdered his heir, thus sealing the doom of their dynasty? 

Madness, sheer, stupid madness… The same madness Dany now saw in the eyes of her older brother, the same madness that clawed at her as her mind fell into a bottomless pit of despair.  
Doreah rode beside her and kept saying soothing, meaningless words, her Northman rode to her left, offering empty words as well. It didn’t matter. She had no future and her past, it was a lie. Perhaps this hell Viserys sold her into was all she deserved for their father’s sins...


End file.
